


Urban Magic

by TheVagabondBoy



Series: What A Fine Mess We Made [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - GTA, Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Bloodlust, Character Death, Detective Miles Luna, Established Relationship, F/M, Fake AH Crew, Female Jack, Gore, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Past Mind Control, Past Relationship(s), Ryan-centric, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Vampire Ryan, Violence, are u fuckin ready my dudes?, questionable medical procedures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-11-22 04:52:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 35,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11372967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVagabondBoy/pseuds/TheVagabondBoy
Summary: He wanted to be close to them, to anyone at all. But he couldn’t. It wasn’t safe for them. They were human. They were frail. Keeping them at an arms-length was best for all parties. He didn’t want to hurt them.





	1. Chapter 1

The penthouse was empty. The whole building, in fact. It was easy for Geoff to achieve. A short message to the B Team, and they made damn sure to evacuate the building and not let anyone back until they heard from him. It didn’t occur often, which only made it that much more menacing when it did in fact happen.

Geoff was nervous, and Jack, who sat beside him on the couch in the living room, felt much the same. He had told her why the building had been emptied. There wasn’t much left in the world that put the fear of God into Jack, but this...this certainly did. She didn’t understand it. Why did Geoff  _ insist _ on getting the Vagabond to move in? The Vagabond himself seemed perfectly happy to be as far away from all of them as possible, until his services were required.

But Jack trusted Geoff. Almost implicitly. If Geoff thought this was a good idea, Jack would let it play out. Of course, she was more than ready to put a bullet in the Vagabond’s head at the slightest hint that he was becoming more foe than friend.

Leather creaked.

Geoff dropped his drink, hand going to his gun.

Jack got her weapon as well.

They were on their feet in an instant, turning to the sound.

They almost fired.

But they lowered their weapons instead.

After all, it was only the Vagabond.

Well, only and only...

He stood on the threshold to the living room, looking every bit as ghostly and ethereal as he always did. His leather-covered hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides. The toothy smile of the mask chilled the blood in their veins. They couldn’t see his eyes, they never could. Something covered those holes in the mask, some kind of black fabric perhaps. It made it look as though he had no eyes at all; only infinitely dark hollows burrowing into the skull. It was inhuman.  _ He _ was inhuman. The monster under the bed.

“The front door was unlocked.” he spoke.

A heavy bass voice, rolling over them like black clouds of thunder.

“We’ve been expecting you.” Geoff said.

Jack was almost surprised at how steady his voice was. All business. He was always like that when face to face with that grinning skull.

“And that is an excuse to leave your door unlocked?” Vagabond questioned. “Whomsoever could just...walk right in.”

Geoff huffed, rolling his eyes. “No one but you’s stupid ‘nough to try.” he said.

Jack honestly expected the Vagabond to take offense to that. But the man simply gave a short shrug.

“Shall we see this room, that you so intently wish to relocate me into?” he asked instead.

Jack nodded quickly. She shoved past Geoff and forced a smile onto her face. There was a reason she usually handled communications and negotiations with the hired help. People tended to underestimate her, simply because of what sat between her legs. Though, she sometimes enjoyed it; this illusion that people were under, that because she was a woman she was weak. It was fun to break the illusion, along with their faces.

“This way.” she said, gesturing to the hallway which lead to the bedrooms.

He bowed his head slowly and stepped back, as though telling her to lead. 

There was a strange atmosphere around the Vagabond, everyone knew that, but now when she moved past him, with only perhaps a foot of distance between them...it was suffocating. It seemed to press down on her chest and shoulders; it weighed her down, and pushed the air from her lungs. It was unsettling.

He followed closely behind her, and Geoff was somewhere behind him. They reached the very end of the hall. She opened the door and stepped into the room that lay beyond it.

*

The room wasn’t too shabby.

It was a far cry from the castles and palaces and mansions he had resided in once upon a time, yes. But...in such a modern age, a skyscraper and a penthouse were the new palaces, he supposed.

Ryan moved around the room.

One wall consisted fully of floor-to-ceiling windows, and they faced the east. He liked that. That meant he could watch the sunrise, if some slight modifications were made. They would have to either put in all new glass, or simply put up some of that wonderful UV filtering film. Either was perfectly alright with him. Dark, almost black, hardwood floors. Looked like some high quality stuff, no doubt quite expensive. It was a shame they’d have to tear it up. The door was thin and flimsy. Easy to break through. That wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all. The bed was a waste of space, they could get rid of that. The desk would do him little good. That could go as well. The dresser, too. Useless. The art on the walls was...non-descript. A little too abstract for his taste. He looked into the en suite for a short moment. Both a bath and a shower, lovely. Everything was white, accented here and there with deep blacks and woodsy greens; Crew colors. He shut the door again.

He inhaled a deep breath. The room smelled like dust from disuse, and a hint of detergent wafted from the sheets on the bed. The woman, Jack, wore a subtle perfume that complimented her natural scent quite wonderfully. A good choice on her part. Motor oil, gasoline, coffee, nail polish, hairspray, gunpowder, her scent was filling. The lilacs of the perfume were like the cherry on top. Her breathing was a little hastened and her heartbeat too; she was nervous. Afraid. Ryan didn’t fault her for that. Really, he would gladly commend her for managing to remain as stoic as she was. In the doorway, Geoff stood and watched; heady whiskey, greasy mustache wax, cigar smoke, gun oil dried into the creases of his hands, dirt under his nails, fresh tattoo ink and scabbing. Ryan appreciated his scent. Earthy and musky. Natural, in a way.

“What d’you think?” Geoff asked. “If there’s anythin’ special you want, or any changes, or whatever, say the word. I’ll get someone on it.”

Ryan nodded slowly. He walked over to the desk. There, lay a fresh notepad and a pencil. Something to entice use, he supposed. He opened the notebook to a random empty page, and started writing. Once his list was finished, he ripped the page out and handed it to Geoff. The man read through it as fast as he could. His eyes seemed to widen more and more by the second.

“What the fuck.” he said finally.

“Save the receipts. I will pay you back once it’s done.” Ryan decided. “Is our business concluded for the day?”

Geoff cast a glance to Jack, and Jack threw it right back. The man swallowed deeply, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Ryan was mesmerized for a moment. He wondered so dearly how Geoff would taste; with all that alcohol and nicotine marinating his blood, the flavor had to be quite something.

“Care to stay for dinner?” Jack offered.

Ryan had to say, he didn’t see that offer coming.  _ Dinner? _

“What will be served?” he questioned.

The woman swallowed as well. She had such lovely skin. It would almost be a shame to break it.

“Pizza. Chinese food. Burgers. Anything you want.” she said, shrugging.

“And when will it be served?” Ryan continued.

*

Why the hell was he asking so many questions? It was  _ dinner. _ It would be served whenever the hell they got hungry!

Before she could say as much, though, a phone pinged. The noise distinctly came from the Vagabond. He reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and found his phone. The big screen illuminated his face in white; the strange light somehow made the mask look even more ghostly.

“Urgent matters require my attention. Dinner will have to wait until another day.” he said as he put the phone away. “But a compact has been reached. Make the adjustments, I will move in.”

He offered his right hand for Geoff to shake. The boss stared at him for a second, still seemingly dumbfound. He awoke soon, though, with a short shake of his head. He took the Vagabond’s hand in a firm grip and shook it. Once the handshake was concluded, the Vagabond reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a pocket flask, uncapped it, and offered it to Geoff.

“What is it?” the man asked.

At which Jack was honestly a little surprised. She would have thought Geoff would gladly accept any alcohol, and she only presumed it was indeed alcohol due to the flask itself.

“Mead.” the Vagabond said. “A handshake and a drink of mead, to seal the compact. Drink.”

Geoff hesitated for another moment. Then he took a deep breath, shrugged his shoulders, and accepted the flask. He took a short drink, face twisting into a look of disgust at the taste, and handed it back.

“The compact is sealed, the deal is made, the deeds will be done,” he decided. ”-and may the Gods strike down he who disavows the compact. Have a pleasant evening.”

With that, he skirted past Geoff in the doorway and moved to leave. Jack could swear she could see him lift his mask slightly, to be able to drink from the flask. Sadly, she could see nothing of the face it hid. They watched him until he disappeared around the corner at the other end of the hallway. Moments later, they heard the front door open, then close again.

“He’s so fuckin’ weird.” Geoff said.

Jack agreed.


	2. Chapter 2

The blood was a little too thick. It had been in the fridge too long. Ryan checked the date, scribbled in black sharpie over the front of the bag. Hm, older than he’d like it to be. Well, it was still drinkable. No use in pouring it down the drain. Wouldn’t do anyone any good there.

So he sipped on, begrudgingly, and stared out at the sunrise. It was darkened slightly, by the black-ish film that covered the windows. That didn’t matter. He still marveled at it, the sun crawling over the horizon. He did every time. It had been so long since he had been able to watch it. Then, some brilliant, wonderful person invented UV resistant glass and this filtering film, and now he could watch it whenever he pleased.

He envied those of his kind, that were friendly with witches. Those who could easily get a spell cast over them, to allow them to walk in the sun. Those who didn’t have to hide themselves away and wait for nightfall. Ryan had known a few witches in his day, but not in the way that would make them in any way inclined to help him. Honestly, he quite firmly believed they would all rather have driven a stake through his heart and called it a day. Of course, he didn’t blame them for that. He hadn’t exactly been the perfect gentleman to any of them, either. So...it was what it was, he figured. He did well enough for himself, even though he wasn’t a daywalker. As long as his body was fully covered, he was fine.

He would suppose that a lot of people thought he wore the mask to hide his identity. Or maybe, to turn into more of a monster than a man. But really, he didn’t. It was necessity. Something light, to shield his entire head and face from the sun. He could just as easily have worn a brown paper bag, instead of the customary black silicone skull. If he had been a daywalker, he would have no need for the mask. These days, though...he wasn’t so sure. Even in the nights it was rare that he left his safe houses without the mask on. The times he did, it was usually in his pocket. Maybe he had grown attached. Become fond of it. Of the icon it had somehow become, and of the whispered stories people told one another when they hoped no one else was listening.

Ryan would have to remember to keep it on at all times when he moved into the penthouse. He couldn’t let them see his face, get that close. He would outlive them all. It was easier to stay detached. Keep the distance. He only agreed to move in so that Geoff would stop bothering him about it. Well, that was what he told himself at least.

The truth, though, was that he had already caught himself in the act of thinking of the Crew as his friends. He wanted it. He wanted to be their friend, and them to be his friends in return. He wanted it so bad.  _ He wanted it so bad it hurt. _ But...he couldn’t. Couldn’t get that close. With what he was...it was impossible. Humans and vampires weren’t meant to be friends. Humans were prey, vampires were hunters. All it took was one bad day, for the Fake AH Crew to be no more and for Ryan to be quenching his thirst with their blood.

That was why he needed a better door. He needed to look himself away sometimes. When things became too much. When the thirst became too strong. Few doors could truly keep him locked inside, but anything was better than the flimsy thing he had seen in the penthouse.

If he didn’t lock himself in when the thirst truly filled him, the whole of Los Santos would be no more than a distant memory. It was all well and good to run with the Crew, to kill and maim in the pursuit of profit and power. But to level the whole city, to let that darkness consume him entirely...there would be no coming back from that. This,  _ life as the Vagabond, as the Mad Mercenary, as one of Geoff Ramsey’s attack dogs, _ was only one life. It was one life, with countless behind him and countless more to come. Soon enough, he would shed the Vagabond and assume a new identity. If the darkness consumed him...there would be nothing left to shed. Nothing. No one that had to take a new name, no one that had to move across the world just to find a place where no one would recognize him. He would just be...an  _ it. _ An animal, a true monster; there would be no mind left in him, only the hunger, only the thirst for blood.

He wanted to be close to them, to anyone at all. But he couldn’t. It wasn’t safe for them. They were human. They were frail. Keeping them at an arms-length was best for all parties. He didn’t want to hurt them.

The sun had long since risen when his phone rang. It seemed to shake the whole table it lay on when it vibrated.

_ Lad #3 _

“Lil’ J.” Ryan said as he answered. “You’re up with the sun? This is unexpected.”

“Hey, pal!” Jeremy hollered on the other end.  _ “’Up with the sun’ _ my ass! More like  _ ‘been up all night to finish Skyrim for the hundredth time.’” _

Ryan had to bite his tongue to keep from smiling.  _ Keep the distance. _

“Me and Gavvers were thinkin’ about raidin’ the airport parkin’ lot later today!” the Lad continued. “Wreck some shit, y’know? Wanna tag along? Maybe knock over a convenience store or somethin’ too, on the way back, if we feel like it!”

That  _ did _ sound fun...

 _ No, he had to focus. _ He had other things to do. Important things. There was no time for mindless destruction at the moment, no matter how much he enjoyed it.

“I would love to, Jeremy, but I can’t.” he said. “I have...business, to attend to. Another time, perhaps.”

The other man let out a soft sigh, crackling over the phone. “Aw, man...” he muttered. “But Gavvy-wavvy heard someone left a brand new Zetorno in long term parking. Thought you’d love to smash it to bits.”

Ryan’s chest actually clenched. They...they thought about him? They heard about the Zetorno and their minds went to  _ him? _ It was...sweet. Kind. Almost something a friend would do. So...did they think of him as a friend?

He had to clear his throat, swallow it down, to be able to speak.

“Raincheck?” he asked. “It is long term parking, after all. It will be there for some time.”

He could almost hear the smile fill the little Bostonian’s face.

“Okay.” he said. “But pizza’s on you after the smashy-smash!”

A small chuckle escaped Ryan before he could stop it.

“Alright.” he agreed. “I will let you know when I become available.”

“Sounds good!” Jeremy said. ”See ya ‘round, big guy!”

“You too, little guy.” Ryan had to mimic, grinning when Jeremy groaned at the joke.

The call cut out mid-groan, and Ryan had to chuckle again. He caught himself, though. Forced himself into silence. Being friendly with them wasn’t a good idea. It would give them hopes, and it’d give  _ him _ hopes. The best thing for all of them, would be if Ryan just... _left. _

Took his things and ran away. Left the mask and the Vagabond behind in Los Santos. Disappeared.

He found himself unable to do it. He had tried several times, when he started to realize how much he actually cared about the humans. He had packed his things up, booked a flight, made a new identity for himself and everything. But he just couldn’t...walk out the door. Had his plane ticket and new passport and ID in his bag, personal affects waiting to be shipped to his new home, wherever it may be.  _ And still he couldn’t do it. _

They depended on him. They needed him.  _ They trusted him. _ The Lads did, at least, but that was enough. He had found himself physically incapable of betraying that trust, of running away, of deserting them. And a little voice in his head whispered,  _ he had lost both friends and family more than a few times over the years. He didn’t want to do it again. _

Ryan pushed those thoughts out of his mind. There was no use thinking about it now. There was actually business that needed to be handled.

He had run out of yesterdays meeting with Geoff, which Ryan assumed the man hadn’t been all too pleased with, to get back to one of his safe houses. Ryan’s contact in the LSPD had sent him a warning;

_ Moonboy:  _ ** PD tipped about Main Street safe house **

_ Moonboy:  _ ** Warrant processing, SWAT gearing up **

_Moonboy:_ **EVACUATE**

Suffice it to say, Ryan had to move quickly. He got there only minutes before the police, but he managed to get everything important. It wasn’t one of his more frequented hide-outs, nor was he particularly attached to it, so there wasn’t much to grab. A few clothes, some cash, one of his journals, a memento or two. He got out of there just in time to hide away in an alley across the street and watch from a distance as SWAT stormed the building.

He was thankful to Detective Luna for the warning, of course, but concerned as well. No one but Ryan himself knew about his safe houses. Not even the Crew knew about them! Who could have tipped them off to it?

Ryan didn’t care about the safe house. The PD could have it for all he cared. He had many more at the ready, just waiting to be used. What he cared about, was that someone had found it. Someone had tracked him down. Someone was sniffing around, trying to rile him up. This was only a warning, though, Ryan knew that.

He had spent yesterday at that very apartment, only leaving it to meet with Geoff and Jack. If the tipper knew about that place, they were no doubt watching it, and had known he was there. They could have called the PD at  _ any time _ in the day, while he was still there. Of course it would be no use; thanks to his strength and speed, it was  _ highly _ unlikely that they would have caught him (and been able to keep him caught). Having SWAT break down the door  _ while Ryan was in the apartment, _ would have been a threat.

Waiting until he left, though? That was a warning.

_ I know where you hide, _ or  _ I’m watching you, _ or something along those lines.

Luna had been working the afternoon-night shift at the time. Meeting had been impossible until now, once the Detective got off shift. Ryan suited up. He swallowed down what was left in his blood bag. He needed to find the tipper. He needed to find them, and eliminate the threat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its like 1am  
> i think im getting a bad habit of posting my fics at absurd hours


	3. Chapter 3

_ \- Windows: replace with UV resistant glass, or apply UV filtering film (please apply to all windows in all shared spaces of the penthouse) _

_ \- Walls: reinforce with steel or titanium panels (minimum of 3 inches thick), apply plastic laminate (water proof, for ease of cleaning, preferably white in color) _

_ \- Ceiling: apply plastic laminate (see above) _

_ \- Floor: tiles (match color with walls/ceiling), install a drain _

_ \- Three (3) closets (plastic laminate, or stainless steel)_

_ \- One (1) sturdy iron bar (mounted horizontally from wall to wall, able to support a minimum of 400 lbs. of weight) _

_ \- Door: stainless steel, or titanium (minimum of 6 inches thick, four locks on the inside, two locks on the outside, one key per lock, keys will be in my possession) _

_ \- Water hose (must be able to spray full area of the room and the en suite) _

_ \- No furniture (unless listed here, or personally requested at a later time) _

_ \- Install plastic flip-up covers on electrical outlets (water-proof) _

_ \- Sound proofing (does not matter to me, but I believe you would prefer it if it was, I leave the final decision to you) _

_ \- I value my privacy. If Gavin (or anyone else) tries to install any cameras/listening devices/similar tech, I will eat him/them. I will physically consume the entirety of his/their being. It will not be pleasant for him/them, that I will make sure of. _

 

Okay, so Vagabond was totally turning his penthouse room into a torture dungeon, right?  _ Awesome! _ Because Geoff  _ totally _ wanted  _ that _ in his house.  _ Note the fucking sarcasm. _

Vagabond had to be insane, right? There was  _ no way _ he really thought Geoff would get all this shit done! Well,  _ fuck him_, because Geoff made a deal and what the hell were people going to say if  _ Geoff Ramsey _ went back on a deal? He might also be the tiniest, little-est bit scared that the Vagabond would actually rip him to pieces if he didn’t hold up his end of the bargain.  _ Might. _

He definitely wasn’t telling Jack that part. She’d go all Mama Bear and want to throw down with Vagabond over it, and Geoff didn’t want her to get herself hurt. Geoff was a big boy; he’d just drink his fear away, no big deal.

“He’s a fucking psycho, right?” Jack said, throwing the list down on Geoff’s desk. “I mean, what the hell kinda person has a fucking bedroom like  _ that? _ And what’s he gonna do?  _ Sleep in the bathtub?” _

Geoff hummed, twirling one side of his mustache around his finger. “Don’t knock it ‘til ya try it.” he said and sipped his whiskey. “I agree, though.  _ But _ we made a deal, and he’ll pay for it in the end anyway, so who cares? No one stopped Gavin from puttin’ that seventy inch TV, like,  _ two feet  _ from his bed, right? He paid for it, he’s the asshole that’s gotta live with it.”

Jack had to snort. She couldn’t deny that he did have a point, though. Their bedrooms were their sanctums, was the best way to put it. It was their own personal space, that was off limits to everyone else (unless permissions were given, of course). Theirs to do with as they pleased.

_ Fine. _ If Vagabond wanted to turn his room into a creepy dungeon of death and torture, that was his choice. Jack sure as hell didn’t like it, but again, she’d let it play out. If it got out of hand, she’d smack Vagabond upside the head and talk some sense into him.

Geoff smashed a button on the desk phone, the intercom to the B Team office a few floors down.

“It’s Matt.” a response came quickly.

“Hey, it’s me,” Geoff said. ”-get your ass up here. Need some work done.”

“Got it, bossman.” Matt said, sounding mildly bored.

*

Ryan loved and hated museums, for the same reason on both counts; they brought back memories of his past lives.

In a way, they made him feel as old as he truly was. They made the creak in his bones known, and made the ache of old injuries thrum through him again. He might not look it, but Ryan was an old man. He was older than most of his kind. He had walked this Earth for centuries. He had seen empires rise and fall, and played a role in many of them. The Fake AH Crew was the empire of the age; he would help raise it to its height of heights, then step back into the shadows to watch it all turn back to ash again. That was his lot in every life. He could be there for the birth of greatness, but for its death...

That was the cruelty of time. Most often the death of that greatness didn’t come until his thirty years had passed; the thirty years he gave himself in every life, where he could pass for human, where he could  _ live _ before people started to realize that he wasn’t normal. He had lived six years as Ryan Haywood, as the Vagabond.

Then again, Los Santos was ganglands. Here, an empire could rise and fall in no time at all.

He moved into a new room, where the white walls were adorned with landscape paintings. Rolling hills and fields, cities and towns, idyllic images of freedom and humanity. In the center of the room, was a row of benches with plush padding covered in burgundy satin. Luna sat on one of them, eyes fixed on a painting in front of him. He sipped from a paper cup slowly. It smelled like coffee, with too much sugar and too much creamer.

Ryan sat down beside him. The signature mask and leather jack was hidden away in his backpack. To anyone looking, it wasn’t the Vagabond sitting there, but any other random man.

“Good morning, Miles.” he said, fixing his eyes on the same painting.

“Mornin’.” the Detective replied. “I take it you got my messages.”

Ryan hummed. “Yes. Thank you.” he said.

“Woulda let ya know sooner, but...” Miles said, shrugging. “Call came in and shit hit the fan. Texted as soon as I got the details.”

“It was enough.” Ryan informed. “I cleared out in time.”

Miles nodded. He sipped his coffee.

“I’m glad.” he said.

“Walk with me.” Ryan said. “What do you know about the tipper?”

They got up. Miles hid his free hand in the pocket of his jacket. Ryan heard the jingle of metal, which told him Miles was clutching his keys for dear life. Perhaps to keep from shaking. They moved out of the landscape room into the hallways.

“It’s not my case, so I don’t know much.” Miles said. “A friend told me the caller was a man. Sounded...young.”

Ryan nodded to himself, filing the information away in his mind.

“Said he’d seen a guy in a black skull mask leaving one of the apartments.” the Detective continued. “Gave the address, apartment number, then hung up. My friend thinks the guy was just too scared to leave a name. Given your... _image, _ I don’t blame him.”

Hm, it was true; Ryan’s image made even just the very idea of him  _ very frightening. _

“So d’you think it was just a...a concerned citizen? Or you thinkin’ someone’s comin’ after ya?” Miles asked.

Ryan took a deep breath and shrugged.

“Not sure yet.” he admitted. “But I intend to find out. Get me all the info you can. And a recording of the call, if there is one.”

Miles stopped, holding his hand out to stop Ryan in his tracks as well.

“I told you,  _ it’s not my case.” _ he reminded. “I can’t just go ‘round asking for that shit, man.”

 _ “I don’t care.” _ Ryan said, staring him down.

Miles looked conflicted; as though he wanted to swing at him, but was scared of the fight that would follow. Ryan wouldn’t say no to a good tussle, but if he could, he’d prefer to avoid it. Miles was fast, even for a vampire, but Ryan was older, therefore stronger. Miles was, what? Eighty, ninety years old? Ryan could snap him in half over his knee and not break a sweat. Not that he sweated anyway, but the figure of speech was fitting enough. Ryan maintained eye contact. Couldn’t have a challenge to his authority go unanswered. If Miles wanted a fight, Ryan would give him one.

But Miles caved. He turned his head away and showed the side of his neck, carotid artery humming under the skin, as a sign of subservience.

“Get what you can.” Ryan ordered. “I’ll handle the rest.”

“Fine.” Miles said, voice low. “Anything else?”

“Stay patched in on the tip line. If someone is hunting down my safe houses, I’d like to be made aware sooner rather than later.” he said.

Miles nodded. “Got it.” he said.

“Keep searching for witches as well.” Ryan said, glaring at the silvery ring on the man’s right middle finger. “Not all have been as fortunate as you.”

As if sensing the despise, Miles switched hands quickly, taking his cup with the left and shoving the right into his pocket.

“I’ll do my best. You know they’re about as good at hiding as we are.” he said. “Is that it?”

“Yes.” Ryan hummed.

Miles nodded, then looked up at Ryan again. “Could you...” he said, but stopped himself.

He wanted to ask something, Ryan could see that, but was hesitant. Ryan cocked his head to the side, as though wordlessly telling him to continue. The Detective let out a soft breath.

“Can you figure things out with your people at the blood bank?” he asked, sounding almost pleading. “They jacked up the prize last time I was there. I can’t pay that much. I don’t have that kinda money, man.”

_ “What?” _ Ryan hissed.

He couldn’t believe this! They had to be messing with him! They had had the same deal for years, and now they were demanding more money? Someone was going to pay for that. Ryan might not be overly fond of Miles, but he was still Ryan’s covener. It was Ryan’s duty to care for him and his needs. This was a grave misstep on the part of the offender.

Ryan took Miles’ shoulder in his hand, squeezing it to show support.

“How much do you have left?” he asked. “How long will you last?”

Ryan would supply him from his own stock if he had to; he knew Miles hated drinking straight from the vein, some kind of moral issue or something. Ryan had no problem with it, the bags were simply a lot easier than hunting in the cityscape. He would go back to hunting, though, if it meant that Miles could avoid it. 

“I’m good for another week. Two, if I ration.” Miles said, swallowing dryly. “I just...I don’t wanna start hunting.”

Ryan squeezed his shoulder a little tighter. “You won’t have to. I will give you from my own supply if you run low. I have enough to last us both for a few weeks.” he said. “But I will sort things out. I promise you that. Call me as soon as you finish your bags. I will bring you more. You won’t have to hunt.  _ I won’t let that happen.” _

A small smile filled Miles’ lips, not quite reaching his eyes. He pulled his hand out of his pocket. He rested the hand on Ryan’s arm.

“Thank you.” he said. “Really.”

The man nodded, returning the smile as best he could.


	4. Chapter 4

“What the hell’s goin’ on back there?” Jeremy asked as he slumped onto the couch.

There were some rather disconcerting noises coming from the other end of the penthouse. Michael scoffed, but didn’t take his eyes off the TV, where Master Chief was taking more hits than Michael was necessarily comfortable with.

“Haven’t heard?” he asked. “Boss got the Vagabond to move in. Had some fucked up demands for his room.”

“V’s movin’ in?” Jeremy asked.

“Yeah. But it’ll be a while ‘fore it’s ready, though.” Michael said. “That’s what Geoff said, at least.”

Jeremy nodded.

Vagabond hadn’t told Jeremy he was moving in. That was weird, right? They had talked just that morning, and V still hadn’t mentioned it. Well, maybe it wasn’t  _ that _ strange. Michael knew. Maybe V had just assumed Geoff had already told them all?

But they were  _ the Battle Buddies! _ Lil’ J and V, V and Lil’ J, that was their thing! Jeremy thought V would have called to tell him right away, about news this big. Maybe he didn’t trust Jeremy? He only meant, V hadn’t even told Jeremy his name or showed him his face, while V knew practically everything there was to know about Jeremy. And he didn’t really talk much, even with Jeremy, despite the fact that they easily spent the most time together; always on the same team, always working together. Then again, that was mostly because Jack and Geoff didn’t want to be on a team with anyone other than each other, Gavin was way too scared of V to be alone with him, and Michael was kind of always on the verge of bashing V’s brains in for one reason or another. Jeremy was the only one left; the dregs, the bottom of the barrel. V probably only hung out with him because Geoff  _ made him _ do it.

_ No, what was he thinking? _

V wasn’t that kind of guy. He was...a private person. Quiet; talked when something needed to be said, but silent otherwise. And he  _ liked _ Jeremy! Jeremy knew he did! They were, like, best friends! They were going to smash up that Zetorno together! Jeremy was just...getting too in his own head about things. Everything was fine. V liked Jeremy. And Jeremy liked V, too. Probably more than he should.

*

The blood bank made Ryan uncomfortable.

Drinking from a bag was nowhere near as good,  _ as euphoric, _ as drinking from the vein, but blood was blood. Standing in a room with hundreds, maybe even thousands, of bags of the stuff...it was hard. He could feel the thirst deep in the pit of his stomach; a vast emptiness, a nothingness that almost hurt. His teeth ached, fangs pushing to be extended, and he had to close his eyes to keep from being blinded by the cold, clinical lights. It was like every facet of his being was turned up a notch,  _ or ten. _ It was hard to keep himself steady. The monster felt like its cage was being rattled, and Ryan did not like it.

He wanted nothing more than to drink it all. To rip open every bag and pour the blood into his mouth, feel it in his throat and on his skin and all around him.  _ He wanted to fucking bathe in it. _ He wanted to consume it all, and let it consume him. The thirst screamed inside him; it felt like he was starving to death. He felt thin and frail and weak, and like all he had to do to regain his strength was just to...to give in to it. Surrender himself to the monster, give himself over completely.

A door opened behind him. Ryan forced the fangs back up into his skull. No need to frighten the poor woman. Not yet, at least.

“V-Vagabond.” she stuttered as she entered.

The air was flooded with the smell of fear. The pungent, acidic stench filled Ryan. It drowned out her usual woodsy scent, and even filed down the sharpest stings of blood.

“Elyse.” Ryan said.

He turned to face her. She pressed herself to the wall, head down to avoid looking at his unmasked face, a clipboard clutched to her chest like a shield. Her heart fluttered.

“Wh-What can I d-do for you, sir?” she asked.

“Miles tells me you upped the price.” Ryan stated. “I would like to know why.”

He liked Elyse. She was a quite lovely woman; smart, kind, generous. If he could avoid it, he would rather not hurt her. If she deserved it, he would, but it would certainly pain him to do so.

“I’m sorry!  _ I’m so, so sorry, sir!” _ she cried out at him, raising the clipboard to hide her face. “I didn’t wanna, but then when he got here, I told him the price had changed!  _ I don’t know why!  _ I-I-I just started talking and I couldn’t stop! I’m sorry!  _ Please don’t hurt me! I’m sorry!” _

That was...odd.  _ Started talking and couldn’t stop? _ Ryan had a hunch, and he did not like it.

He crossed the room, resting his hand over the top of the clipboard. Elyse shrank in on herself. She trembled like a leaf in the wind. She was so unbelievably frightened of him. She smelled like fear, but not like lies. People tended to smell almost like ozone, a metallic tang, when they lied, but that scent was nowhere on Elyse. She was telling the truth.

“I believe you, Elyse.” he said.

He made no attempt to pull her shield away, or to move it in anyway. He simply rested his hand there, as though telling her he wanted to look at her but that it was her choice. She lowered it slowly, by her own will. She looked over his knuckles at him with wide doe eyes. They were green like a whole forest.

“Y-You do?”

He nodded slowly and gave her the kindest smile he had within him.

“I do.” he said. “Can you put the clipboard down? I am not going to hurt you, Elyse.”

He could hear how she swallowed, the fear drying her throat. She lowered the plastic board entirely and leaned around him. She tossed the board to the desk behind him and to the right.

“I want you to look into my eyes.” he said.

He kept his voice soft and low. There was no need to terrify her any more than she already was.

“Deep into my eyes.”

She met his gaze again.

“See how blue they are?”

She nodded. It was lazy, and tired. He was already creeping into her mind.

“Look into my eyes, and see the ocean. See how the waves crash against the shore. How the water wets the sand.”

Her memories of the exchange with Miles were fuzzy. Unclear.  _ Out of focus. _ As though she was standing behind herself, looking over her own shoulder and watching this replica of herself talk to Miles. It was obvious she had been compelled. A vampire made her do it. But...there was no memory of a vampire. Not even a memory of talking to a stranger any time recently. They had made her forget.

A vampire had tried to disrupt Ryan’s supply of blood, and thereby Miles’ as well. This person, this vampire, wanted to hurt him. Keep him from feeding and make him weak enough to fight. Were they moving in on his territory? Los Santos was his; he had claimed the city for his own. It was  _ his. _ No one was going to take it from him. He was old and strong; whoever was coming for him had  _ no idea  _ what they were walking into.  _ He would kill them all. _

He withdrew from Elyse’s mind. Her eyes fell closed and she sagged back against the wall, energy drained from having him root around in her head. Ryan thread his arm around her, leading her gently to her desk, and helped her sit. It took some moments before she was able to focus on his face again.

“Wh-What happened?” she asked with a meek voice.

“Someone used you.” Ryan said, kneeling before her. “Someone like me, forced you to do what you did.”

Elyse exhaled a soft breath. She shook her head to herself, wiping her hands over her face. He sympathized. He allowed her a moment to sort through things in her mind. Being told something like that, it couldn’t be easy. Being told she had been used and manipulated...he didn’t doubt that it would take her some time to come to terms with that.

”Can you take the rest of the day off?” he asked.

She nodded, not opening her eyes yet. “Yeah. Yeah, I...I have to call my boss but yeah. Yeah, I think so.” she said.

He patted her leg softly, hoping it conveyed at least a measure of support.

“Good. You should go home and rest. Sleep.” he told her. “Would you like me to take you home?”

She shook her head. “No. It’s fine. I’ll...I’ll get a cab.” she said.

“Are you sure?” Ryan questioned. “It would be no trouble. I only want to help, Elyse.”

But she nodded again, finally opening her eyes to look at him. “It’s okay. But...thank you.” she said. “Just...wait with me? ‘Til the cab gets here.”

Ryan offered a smile. “Of course.” he told her. “Can I get you some water? Something to eat from the vending machine outside?”

“Just water, please.”

*

“Tell me again what you’re going to do.” Ryan said.

Elyse nodded. “I’ll go to the garden center and buy a bunch of, uh, verbena plants. A-And I’m gonna grow ‘em, and put the leaves in my food.” she repeated for him. “’Cause as long as it’s in my system, v-vampires can’t co-compel me, or drink my blood.”

Ryan patted her shoulder, smiling again. “Good.” he said. “When you start eating it, everything you’ve been compelled to forget will start to come back. When it does, call me. If anything out of the ordinary happens, call me.  _ I will protect you.” _

The woman breathed as deep as she could, shaking slightly. She nodded at him. Before he knew it, she was wrapped around him in a tight embrace, face pressed into his chest.

“You’re not so scary, buddy.”

She stepped back quickly, before he could quite wrap his brain around what was going on. Elyse hurried out the door to the street, where her cab was waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the bad habit of posting at odd hours continues! its 3:45am and i slept for three hours. i die


	5. Chapter 5

“How are you holding up?” Ryan asked into his phone.

“It’s fine, Ryan, I’m not starving yet.” Miles replied, sounding like he was smiling, which Ryan was glad to hear. “Did you figure things out?”

“Yes. My contact won’t be back at work for a day or two,” he explained. ”-but you can go meet her after that. Don’t be upset with her. We...talked things out. It wasn’t her fault.”

Miles made a noise on the other end; it sounded mildly disapproving.

“Why do I feel like there’s somethin’ you’re not tellin’ me?” he asked.

Ryan smiled. They might not like it, but they had spent far too much time together to  _ not _ pick up on these things, he supposed.

“Because there  _ is _ something I’m not telling you.” Ryan said. “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with at the time. But when the time comes, I will tell you all you need to know.”

His Sire made that same noise again, and again Ryan smiled. Miles was too kind for this life. Too kind for what he was. He didn’t even like Ryan, and still he cared so much. If Ryan could undo the curse he himself had put on Miles all those years ago, he would. Miles deserved, perhaps more than anyone Ryan had ever known, to be human. Ryan hated himself for taking that away from him. Then again, given the situation Miles had been in at the time, maybe Ryan had done him a favor. But really, it wasn’t Ryan’s place to decide. He had done it; whether it was a gift or a curse, that was up to Miles to say.

“Okay.” Miles conceded at last. “I’ll keep you updated on things on my end.”

“Thank you.” Ryan said.

He put his phone away just as the elevator stopped and opened.

The penthouse door was still unlocked. Ryan sighed. He heard the distinctive sounds of construction work as he walked in; Geoff wasted no time, it would seem. That was good. Ryan was getting more and more glad he had accepted Geoff’s offer to move in. Even if whoever was coming after Ryan was a vampire, Ryan would feel a lot safer at the penthouse than in any of his safe houses. The building was closely guarded. Getting to the penthouse unnoticed was a challenge, and would be even for a vampire. Plus, everyone in it was heavily armed, or at least in very close proximity to a weapon, or twenty. Not only that, but the police weren’t stupid enough to try to raid this building.

Michael and Gavin were in the living room. They were arguing over something, probably one of the Brit’s hypotheticals. While it did sound a little heated, Ryan could hear them both laugh now and then, telling him it was all in good spirits. He said a short hello as he passed by the doorway. They gave no indication of having heard him. Ryan smiled to himself behind his mask.

_ Stop it. _

Stop smiling. They were silly little mortals; he couldn’t get fond of them. Sooner or later, they were going to die, and he would long outlive them. If he got too attached, the loss would only cripple him. There was no reason to do that to himself.

Jeremy stood by the stove as Ryan approached.  _ Eggs, flour, milk, a pinch of salt, chocolate. _ He was making chocolate chip pancakes.

“Good afternoon, Jeremy.”

The lad startled, nearly throwing his spatula across the room. He staggered, leaning against the counter, and clutched his chest.

_ “Jesus Christ...” _ he sighed. “You’re like a pop-up add for the Devil.”

Ryan found himself smiling again, and this time he just couldn’t stop it. Jeremy seemed to catch his breath, Ryan could hear his heart come down from its spike. The lad returned Ryan’s unseen smile as he put at least some of his attention back to the sizzling frying pan.

“When d’you get here?” he asked.

Ryan pulled out a stool at the kitchen island and sat down.

“Just now.” he said, at which Jeremy hummed and nodded. “Is our fearless leader on the premises?”

_ “Shit, shit, fuck.” _ Jeremy swore to himself as he attempted to flip a pancake and failed.

He carefully helped the pancake up on the spatula with his fingers, hissing and cursing at the sting of heat. He shoved his burned thumb into his mouth for a moment before speaking.

“Depends. Geoff’s about as brave as a guppy. Now,  _ Jack, _ though...” he said, gesturing absentmindedly with the spatula. “She’d take on a fuckin’ army of grizzly bears no sweat,  _ blindfolded, _ with one hand tied behind her back.”

That was probably accurate. Ryan had to admit, Jack scared even  _ him _ at times. She wasn’t a particularly violent person, but God help the man who as much as  _ tried _ to hurt her boys.

“That is true.” Ryan said, tapping at the marble counter top with gloved hands. “Allow me to rephrase, then. Is the guppy on the premises?”

The lad snorted. He turned for a moment to shoot one of those damnable smiles at Ryan. The smiles that just made his whole heart melt and his brain grind to a halt.  _ He’ll die soon enough. Don’t get attached. _ Ryan was glad for the frozen grin of the mask.

“Office.” Jeremy said, pointing in its general direction and shrugged. “He’s got some meetin’ goin’ on, though. Got the B Team preppin’ for a heist, I think.”

“Thank you.” Ryan said, moving to get up.

_ “Wait!” _ Jeremy exclaimed though, and stopped Ryan in his tracks. “Wait, wait, wait.”

He waited. He watched, in slight confusion, as the lad fussed over his pan for a minute. He shook a spray can of some sort, spritzing out its content, then. Finally, he turned around with another wide smile on his face, and a plate in hand. Perfect pancakes were stacked on it, chocolate dotted through-out, and a big dollop of whipped cream was sat atop. He placed it before Ryan, along with a fork.

“Try ‘em out.” he urged. “Mama Dooley’s secret recipe. Ain’t no typical pancakes you got right there, buddy.”  


Ryan’s eyes were a little wide. This was...sweet. Of Jeremy. To do for him. To give him. Ryan looked up from the pancakes, and was met with the watchful eyes of Jeremy. He was smiling still, bouncing on his toes in wait. He was so excited. Ryan  _ had to _ taste them, right?

“Turn around, Lil’ J.” he said.

“Oh! Right, totally, sure thing, dude.” he said quickly and turned his back to Ryan.

Ryan pulled his mask up, glad as hell that there was no direct sunlight coming into the kitchen at the moment. He ripped away a piece of the stack with his fork, dipping it through the cream, then shoving it into his mouth.

_ Holy Christ, and Mother Mary..._how? How were  _ pancakes _ this delicious? Ryan could swear he heard himself actually  _ moan _ at it. Maybe that was just the fact that he hadn’t eaten actual  _ food _ in something close to twenty years. Either way, he wanted to eat these pancakes for the rest of his life, however long that would turn out to be.

“Jeremy. These are...” Ryan attempted. “They’re... _amazing. _ The best thing that I have ever tasted. My compliments to the Chef. And to the Chef’s mother.”

The young lad was close to  _ vibrating _ with excitement at the praise.

“I’m sad to say, I cannot stay and eat.” Ryan said then, which made Jeremy’s shoulders slump a little. “But please, can you fry up some more for me? Put them in a tupperware? I would love to savor them later.”

“Yeah, totally!” Jeremy said, seemingly lighting up at the request.

Ryan could hear how the lad’s heart pounded and fluttered, breathing skipping. Ryan couldn’t help but be excited by  _ his _ excitement. He pulled his mask down into place again.

“Thank you. You can turn.” he said. “Now, I must speak with the guppy.”

Jeremy turned. Ryan could die just looking at him, because he was like the sun; so bright, radiating light and warmth and life. He was almost afraid he’d burn if he uncovered himself.

“I’ll whip ya up a load of ‘em!” the lad said.

He took the fork Ryan held out to him, as well as the plate, then busied himself with just what he had promised. Ryan headed for the office. He could hear the meeting; Geoff was going on about a shipment of some sort, and the B Team seemed to be listening quite intently. Jack was there too, going by how strong the presence of her scent was. The heist seemed interesting. Sounded enjoyable. A gun fight seemed almost guaranteed, from what he had heard. Perfect to get the adrenaline flowing, even in his dead body.

Everyone silenced when he pounded on the door.

_ “What?!” _ Geoff yelled, shrill as ever.

Ryan opened the door and stepped in. Every heart in the room spiked when they saw him. Even to his own Crew, he was terrifying. Geoff stared at him. Ryan wondered what thoughts were going through the man’s mind as he looked at him. What horrors did his brain concoct for Ryan?

He noted the slight tint to the windows. Hm, Geoff had had the UV film installed.

“A word?” Ryan said.

Jack and the B Team all turned to look at Geoff instead, silently asking what to do. The boss slumped back in his chair, exhaling a heavy sigh and eyes falling closed.

“A’right! Everybody out!” he ordered with a flippant wave of his hand. “Get out, dickheads!”

The gaggle of youths all got to their feet, with varying degrees of disinterest on their faces, and moseyed on out of the office.

“Can  _ Jack _ stay?” Geoff spat, somewhat sarcastically.

Ryan certainly sensed that it was a rhetorical question. He shrugged.

“You’re the boss.” he said.

Geoff scoffed, and made another one of those flippant, waving hand-gestures.

“Jack, just...whatever, man.” he sighed.

The woman snorted. “Your mess...” Ryan heard her mutter under her breath as she left as well.

The door closed quietly behind her.

“You’re a real fuckin’ headache, y’know that?” Geoff said, and decided to actually look at Ryan for it.

He still stood where he had been the whole time; some paces through the door, halfway to the big, white desk. Ryan shrugged again.

“Then I do believe I am about to turn into a migraine.” he said.

As Geoff groaned and got up to hit his liquor cabinet, Ryan took a seat in one of the plush chairs in front of the desk. He watched in silence. Geoff poured himself a triple of Laphroaig. He glanced over his shoulder to Ryan as an offer.  _ May as well, _ Ryan reasoned, and gave a curt nod. Geoff poured him a triple as well, then moved back to sit. Ryan took the glass that was offered to him.

“Good health to ya...” the boss mumbled, turning his eyes away to let Ryan drink.

_“Slàinte mhòr agad.”_ Ryan mirrored, as he pulled up his mask and drank it all in one go. “Tastes like home.”

Geoff hummed into his glass as he drank, raising an eyebrow. “You Scottish?” he asked once he set it down.

Ryan shrugged yet again, getting his mask straight. “I was.” he said. “A long time ago.”

The man scoffed and shook his head. “Don’t I know that feelin’...” he said. “So, what the hell kinda shit you gonna be droppin’ on me now?”

He leaned back. Geoff wasn’t going to like this.

“I need some...personal days, I suppose one could put it.” Ryan explained. “I have personal matters to attend to, and they are quite urgent. Sadly, they must be my priority at the moment.”

“I know you’re not gonna tell me, but...what kinda personal matters?” Geoff asked, twirling his mustache. “I’m gonna need somethin’ to go on here.”

Ryan shook his head. “I can’t say. I promise you, Geoff, these matters have nothing to do with the Crew, nor does it necessarily have to do with my work.” he explained. “I...I must handle these things alone. I don’t want any of you to get involved in my matters, and get hurt because of it.”

The human sipped his whiskey. Again, Ryan wondered so deeply what Geoff was thinking.

“So you’re gonna be takin’ a sick-day, is that it?” Geoff said, snipping the words out. “Comin’ and goin’, in and outta  _ my house? _ What the hell’re you playin’ at? I got this whole... _mystery man _ thing you got goin’ on, in the beginning. Hell, I was even kinda jealous, ‘cause you could take that stupid fuckin’ mask off and be whoever the fuck you are under it, and no one’d be the fuckin’ wiser.”

He was all but shouting at Ryan. The vampire was honestly a little surprised. Geoff hadn’t raised his voice like that at Ryan,  _ ever. _

“But I’m gettin’ sick as dicks of it. If you’re in this goddamn Crew, you’re in the goddamn Crew, and you tell us your fuckin’ name and you show us your fuckin’ face. We’re puttin’  _ our lives _ in  _ your hands_, and by now, I’m kinda itchin’ to know who the fuck it is I’m trustin’. You take those  _ personal days, _ or whatever  _ the fuck _ you wanna call ‘em, but if you do, you best start sharin’ some shit with me. And if you don’t take that ugly fuckin’ mask off right this goddamn second... _I will kick you out on your ass.” _

The whiskey tumbler shattered in Ryan’s hand.

He raised his hand, dropping the shards onto Geoff’s desk. The boss stared at him. Ryan could smell the anger, almost drowning out the fear, on him. Geoff’s eyes stayed on him, as Ryan rose to his feet. He pulled the mask off, long black hair falling in its loose ponytail down his back. The boss’s eyes widened to saucers. He couldn’t  _ believe _ he had actually gotten Ryan to listen to him.

Ryan rested his hands on the desk, leaning over it.

“I am trying to protect you.” he insisted.

Geoff swallowed. “We’re your Crew. Whatever it is, we’re on your side.” he said, and somehow his voice was steadfast.

The stony expression on Ryan’s face softened.

“I know, and I thank you for that. But in this...you are out of your depth.” he said. “It is my highest priority to protect my people, it has been since the day you hired me.  _ You, _ are my people. I will do all that I can, to keep you safe. At the moment, protecting you, means excluding you. My trust in you, Geoff, is  _ boundless_. Please. Trust me on this one single thing.”

Geoff stared at him. He stared so deep into Ryan’s eyes, that it took all that Ryan had not to slither into his mind without meaning to. It was as though Geoff was trying to read  _ Ryan’s _ mind; to suss out his intentions, to find what was truth and what was lie.

He threw his drink back, and got up to pour another.

“One week.” Geoff said. “Figure things out in  _ one week. _ If you don’t,  _ clue us the fuck in. _ We’ll back your play.”

Ryan nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think of the new title, im an indecisive fuck so i cant make up my mind on my own  
> and i think yall are gonna like the next chapter. i wont say too much, but it is a flashback to one of Ryans previous lives, so get excited, guys!!
> 
> Slàinte mhòr agad. - Great health to you.  
> A typical toast in Scottish Gaelic.


	6. Chapter 6

_ 1953 _

 

_ Ryan carefully pulled back a corner of the newspaper he had used to cover the window in his bedroom. He peeked out at the street. The sun was on the horizon, going by the orange glow that the city bathed in. Almost time to go to work. _

_ He liked Oregon. Early sunsets, late sunrises, he had so much time! And if he was careful, he could even go out in the days, if it was cloudy enough. If he was careful, he could walk through the city and pretend he was human. _

_ He met his landlord in the hall as he was leaving. It was a kind old man, who didn’t ask too many questions about Ryan’s odd comings and goings. Any that he  _ did _ ask, were easily answered; Ryan worked nights, so he spent most of the day asleep. Not a complete lie. He did work nights. The days, though, he mostly spent with his head in his book, or maybe watching the television. There wasn’t much else to do, when he was confined to his tiny apartment. The old man said hello, Ryan smiled and returned the greeting and helped him with the grocery bags he was carrying. The man thanked him profusely, called him a good young man. Ryan had to smile; he was many times older than the man himself, even if he didn’t look it. He pulled a few bills out of his wallet and paid the month’s rent to the man, before moving on. _

_ People smiled and waved at him as he rode past them on his bicycle. He had met many of them at the hospital where he worked. Others were just polite as can be. Ryan returned the smiles and waves. He parked his bicycle on the west side of the hospital. The doctors ignored him as he entered. A few of the nurses smiled and nodded. The patients didn’t even seem to know he existed. The gray jumpsuit would do that, he supposed. He grabbed his cart in the janitor’s closet and got to working. The hospital wasn’t going to clean itself. _

_ * _

_ It was getting  _ uncomfortably _ close to dawn when Ryan had worked his way up to the polio ward; he’d have just enough time to finish up there and get home before sunrise. The place was a ghost town. Those not asleep for the night were in comas, waiting for the bodies to finally give out. Ryan watched them for a moment. _

_ It was almost sad. There were kids in there. Some that could barely have been past their tenth birthday. Kids, teens, adults, and seniors alike. All of them stood as equals before the Black Death of the age. _

_ Ryan whispered a prayer for them all, to a God he didn’t believe in and that would have shunned his existence even if he did believe. He drew the cross over himself for good measure. These people needed all the help they could get, he figured. He pulled his mop out of the bucket, wringing it out then slopping it down on the floor. _

_ He liked cleaning. It was peaceful. He hummed softly to himself as he moved through the big room, scrubbing over the floors. The whole hospital was asleep, it would seem. There was an almost magical air; a strange, modern kind of magic, that lingered over the hospital, clinging to the patients and the nurses and doctors. Maybe even to Ryan himself. It was in the raspy breaths of the dying, the buzzing of electricity in the few lights that were still on, and the ticking of the clock on the wall. Ryan almost felt like he was back home, standing on a moor, where the magic and the mystery was weaved into every facet of life. _

_ There was a gentle sense of accomplishment when Ryan finished up. He was the hospital management’s favorite janitor; somehow,  _ unknown to them, _ he managed to scrub through the whole place in just one shift. Between Ryan and himself, he may or may not put that speed of his to good use. And why shouldn’t he? He was only mopping the floors, cleaning windows, scrubbing the toilets, and so on. It harmed no one. It honestly made him feel like less of a waste of space than usual, when he cleaned. He did a service. Something not everyone noticed, but couldn’t do without. It felt good. _

_ Ryan startled slightly when he heard a muffled  _ pop!  _ behind him. He turned quickly. Oh, it was nothing, a lightbulb going out. Ryan grabbed his cart and pushed it over to the bed with a now dark bedside lamp. The bulb had probably been on its last leg, when someone had simply forgotten to turn it off, he supposed. Might as well change it and save the day crew the trouble. Didn’t he have a few bulbs somewhere on his cart?  _ There! _ He pulled a fresh bulb from its carton with a soft noise of victory. _

_ “Don’t you worry your little head, son.” he murmured at the young man who lay in the bed, smiling to himself. “I’ll get that sorted. Just you work on getting yourself better, alright?” _

_ Without thinking, Ryan reached into the conical lampshade and grabbed the bulb. The heat caught him by surprise somehow. Reflexively, instinctively, he clenched his fist. The bulb shattered in his hand. He swore as he pulled back; the hot glass cut deep, blood  _ spurted _ for a moment, before his body caught on to the injury and began to heal. He dropped the shards into the trash bag on his cart, wrapping his palm in a rag he had had in his pocket. It would heal in a minute or two. _

_ “Shit!” he bit, eyes widening as they landed on the man in the bed. _

_ Heavy droplets of Ryan’s blood stained his face, turning into slow rivulets as they rolled down his cheeks and chin. _

_ No, no, no, no! This was not good! _

_ Did it get in his mouth? _

_ Did he swallow it? _

_ If it got into his system, he would turn! _

_ He would turn and the bloodlust would overtake him! It would force him to drink, and make the transformation complete. That couldn’t happen. Ryan couldn’t let that happen. He found another rag on his cart, and wiped the patient’s face. He dried the blood away as best he could; he scanned his face for any cuts or sores, that the blood could have seeped into. If it got into him, Ryan had to kill him. He had to kill him to save him. He had to end that eternity of suffering before it started. He opened the man’s mouth, sharp eyes scanning for traces of blood. _

_ The sun peeked in through the cathedral windows that filled the east wall of the ward.  _ Shit! _ He had to get home! He had to get home,  _ now! _ He couldn’t stay in the hospital all day if he missed this window; all those smells, all those warm bodies, all that death and blood...he’d go crazy. He had to get home. Ryan shoved both rags into his pocket; he would have to burn them later, to be sure. He found the man’s chart laying in the box fixed to the footboard of the bed. _

Miles Félix.

_ He was more skin and bones than man. The polio must have paralyzed him, and started eating away at his musles. _

_ “Miles Félix.” Ryan said. “Either way this goes...you will die.” _

_ The polio would kill him, or Ryan would. There was no way around it. _

_ * _

_ Miles woke with a start. _

_ He was sitting up before he had fully understood that he was indeed awake. _

_ What happened?  
_

_ He looked around with with wide eyes. Slowly, little by little, things started to get back in order in his mind. This was a hospital, right? Because he was sick. Wasn’t he? Yes. Polio. He got polio. _

_ He looked down at his body. His arms looked fine, as normal and meaty as usual. No decayed musculature, no knots of bone standing like mountains under his skin. He was...he was fine. Was he cured? Did they cure him? Tears wet his eyes. He was okay.  _ He was cured! He was alive!

_ His stomach growled. He was so hungry. Why was he so hungry? What was that smell? It smelled like...hot metal. Like pennies under a burner. Melting copper, the sweetest sugar he had ever known, and life. It smelled like  _ life. _ He looked around again. Somehow, he could see it all. Every little detail of the room, all at once, even through the dark of night. Other patients lay all around him. He could smell the death on them. _

_ In a flash, an instant, he stood over another patient. _

_ She was asleep, or unconscious. He couldn’t say. Her heart pounded in her chest; the vibrations seemed to shake Miles’ whole body. She smelled so good. Sugar and copper and life hummed inside her. His face ached, teeth screaming pain at him. He couldn’t stop himself. He put his mouth to her throat and bit into her. _

_ His body sang with euphoria. _

He was alive.

_ Her body seemed to fall to pieces in his hands. The blood filled the air. It filled Miles. He wanted more.  _ He needed more. _ The man in the next bed. And the next and the next and the next. _

_ * _

_ Ryan could smell it as soon as he got within a mile of the hospital. _

__

polio-infected blood

death

** vampire **

_ Oh, no... _

_ He skid to a stop with his bike and hopped off, throwing it aside. Running was faster. He was in the polio ward in seconds. His heart would have stopped, had it been beating. _

_ There he stood;  _ Miles Félix, _ dressed in a hospital gown and covered in blood. _

_ He stared back at Ryan with wide eyes the color of tar. They were like two little voids, that had made their home where his eyes were supposed to sit. His mouth split his face,  _ quite literally, _ from ear to ear, and teeth as long and sharp as knives sat in his gums. They begged almost audibly for a warm body to rip into. _

_ It seemed they already had, though. Bodies  _ littered _ the room. They were in shreds. He had ripped them to pieces. The blood was everywhere; it covered the walls and the floor and even spattered the high ceiling. It was a massacre. _

_ A muted groan filled Ryan’s ears. He stared at Félix again. The blackness of his eyes dissipated like fog, until they looked human again. The wide opening that made up his mouth began to close; from ear to ear, the skin was pushed and knitted together into a human mouth, with human teeth and human lips, not leaving any sign that it had ever been anything else. _

_ The man- no, that still wasn’t right. The  _ boy _ collapsed to his knees. His eyes wandered around the room, horror filling his every feature. _

_ “What happened?” _

_ He sounded pitiful. A scared child. _

_ “Did...Did I do this?” _

_ All thoughts in Ryan’s head were screaming at him as their eyes met. _

__

Servant, Son, Creation  


 

_ He didn’t doubt that the boy’s mind was screaming similar things. _

 

Master, Father, Creator  


 

_ This was not good. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is terrible and i hate it


	7. Chapter 7

Geoff kicked off his shoes. He undid his bow-tie and set it aside on his nightstand. He shrugged out of his jacket, resting it over the back of the armchair in the corner of the bedroom.

“You okay?” Jack asked, already in bed.

The man exhaled a soft sigh. He sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing at his eyes with his hands.

“Just...tired.” he said. “A lot on my mind.”

“Wanna talk about it?” the woman asked.

He heard shuffling behind him, a moment before she wrapped around him and rested her chin on his shoulder.

“You can tell me anything, Geoff.” she said. “You know that.”

He nodded. “Yeah.” he said. “It’s just this whole thing with the Vagabond.”

“Did he do something?” Jack asked.

“No. Yeah. Yes and no.” he hesitated.

He scrubbed over his face again. All this bullshit...

“He needed some time to figure a few things out. Didn’t tell me anything. Gave him a week before he’s gotta let us in on it. Told him, we’re his Crew and we’re on his side. He’s gotta let us in sooner or later.” Geoff explained. “Is that...I mean, was that the right thing? To say?”

Jack hugged him a little tighter for a moment.

“You’re right. We’re his team. He’s gotta know he can trust us.” she said. “We trust him.”

He knew she was right, and that he had been right. The Vagabond had been a full-fledged member of the Fake AH Crew for close to a year now. It was like Geoff had told him; he had been fine with the mask and the mystery for more than long enough. It wasn’t too much to demand that Vagabond show them the same trust they had showed him. What did he think? That they were going to turn around and tell the whole world who he was? They would never do that to him. If the guy wanted to keep himself a mystery to the world,  _ fine. _ But not to the Crew. Not anymore. And he could think of that, whatever he wanted.

“He showed me his face.”

Jack seemed to be stunned into silence.

“He’s a good lookin’ dude.” Geoff said, snorting. “I mean, he’s some fuckin’...grade A model type shit.”

*

Ryan knocked on Elyse’s door. There were two hearts beating inside; the smell of a man, alongside Elyse’s own. Ryan wondered what she had told her husband about him. He supposed he would find out soon, as the scent of the man approached the door. Ryan was glad he had stuffed both mask and jacket in his bag, after the sun had set.

“Hey!” the husband said once the door opened, smile filling his face. “You must be John! Elyse said you were coming over.”

“Hello.” Ryan responded, following the lead of the lie. “I’m sorry, I’m terrible with names. She’s told me a hundred times, and I still forget every single time.”

The man laughed, big and open and with his head thrown back. “Don’t worry about it, man. I’m James.” he said, offering Ryan his hand.

Ryan shook it, and was then gestured to enter.

“C’mon in. She’s in the kitchen. We’re just makin’ dinner.”

It was a small one bedroom apartment; it looked well-lived in and well-loved. It felt like a home.

They came to the kitchen rather quickly. Elyse looked up from the vegetables she was cutting, eyes locking on Ryan the moment she saw him.

“J-John.” she said.

“Hello.”

She tore her eyes from him, looking to her husband instead and smiling.

“Take over here, won’t you, honey?” she said. “I just gotta help John out.”

James smiled as well, nodding. He moved to her side, petting her back and placing a short kiss on her head.

“Um. This way, John. I...I’ve got those papers you needed.” she said, with a gesture to follow.

“Lead the way.” Ryan offered.

They moved swiftly through the apartment again. She lead him through a living room, stuffed to the brim with a plush couch and a big TV, on into a small side room, which was made up as an office. Elyse all but collapsed into the desk chair. She leaned over the desk, burying her face in her hands.

“Take all the time you need.” Ryan said softly, staying by the door. “What you have gone through, is no laughing matter. I don’t doubt that it is hard for you. But I am here, and I promise you, Elyse, that for as long as I live, you will not have to go through it again.”

He silenced, and remained so, while she breathed. He allowed her to take her time. He listened to her heart; it pounded at a million miles an hour. She was terrified. He hoped she believed him, tat she understood that what he said was true. As long as he lived, or more likely, as long as  _ she _ lived, he would protect her. She had served him well ever since he claimed Los Santos as his territory. That, would not soon be forgotten. Ryan had always been careful to pay good mind to the humans that did him service of their own free will.

Elyse looked up finally, breathing and heart rate having began to normalize.

“Sorry. I just...I’m not good at lying. To James.” she said. “Or to anyone.”

Ryan nodded. “I understand. It must be difficult.” he said. “And I truly don’t wish to rush you, but...you said on the phone that you were starting to remember.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I stopped at the garden center yesterday, like you said. After we talked.” Elyse explained. “A-And I put the leaves in my lunch when I got home. I-I just wanted to remember, and  _ get it over with, _ y’know? Then...last night, I started getting these... _flashes. _ Or something. I-I’m not sure what to call it.”

Ryan listened intently.

“It’s still...kinda blurry. I’m not sure I’ve really got it all back yet. But there was a...a woman. At the blood bank. A few days ago, last week maybe. I think...I think I thought she from the hospital. Not sure why. And...and she was really nice and all, and we were talking. Then things just...they just get all fuzzy.”

A woman?

Interesting. Miles said the tipper was a man. If the events were connected, which was still just an assumption on Ryan’s part, this could spell trouble. Even if it was only the two of them, the man and the woman, they were still equal in numbers to Ryan’s own. But if there were  _ more _ of them...Ryan was strong, yes, but he couldn’t take on an army on his own. This development was concerning. He needed to figure out who they were, these new enemies of his. He needed to know what he was up against to be able to make battle plans.

“And you’re sure that is all you remember so far?” Ryan inquired.

Elyse nodded. “I think so. Like I said, it’s still kinda blurry, and messy.” she said.

“Can you tell me anything about what she looked like?” he asked. “How she sounded? Do you remember an accent? Was there anything about her that stands out in her mind?”

At that, Elyse shook her head.

“Not really. She sounded...American. I think.” she said, though. “It’s like...I can remember the  _ sound _ of her voice, but...everything she said is just  _ gone.” _

Ryan hated that she couldn’t tell him more, but at the same time, he didn’t blame her. Her mind had been manipulated and toyed with. He was lucky she could tell him that much  _ already. _ Elyse had been eating verbena for less than a full 24 hours, and she already had this much clarity. He had to give her more time. He hated it, hated having to wait around for the fight to come to him, but he had no choice.

“Thank you, Elyse.” he said. “Make sure you feed James the verbena too. Just to be sure. If you remember anything more, no matter how insignificant it might seem, please let me know.”

The woman nodded jerkily. “And...and what if she comes back?” she asked.

Ryan took a deep breath. He set his bag down on the floor, then rounded the desk until he was by her side. She no longer seemed as afraid of him. Certainly not when he took a knee, and looked up at her.

“If this woman comes to see you again, or another comes, tell them that I know they are in the city. Tell them you have eaten the verbena. Tell them you have no quarrel with them, nor they with you. Tell them, that their quarrel lies with me, and me alone.” he said, with a strong and steady voice. “I cannot guard you for every moment of every day, though I wish that I could, since I am the reason you have been put in danger. But I promise, Elyse, I am doing all that I can to sort his out.”

Elyse watched him; she had to be asking herself what to do, how to get out of this mess, how to keep James and herself safe, if she could really trust Ryan at all. He made no attempt to interrupt her, said nothing and did not move. It was her right to ask these questions, and many more, and he was not going to rob her of that right.

At last, she nodded.

*

Ryan lay three heavy knocks on Gavin’s door. He hoped Gavin was willing to help him.

_ “One sec!” _ came from inside the Brit’s room.

There was some rustling; clothes being put on in a hurry, tapping at a keyboard, a few clicks of a mouse, then steps towards the door. Gavin’s eyes were wide as soon as he realized who stood on his doorstep.

“Hey.” he said still.

“Hello, Gavin.” Ryan returned. “I need your expertise.”

“Oh? W-With what?” the Brit asked. “Uh, this got to do with that  _ personal business _ Geoff’s been whinin’ about?”

Ryan nodded. “Yes. I need to look at some security footage.” he said.

Gavin hummed. He stepped back slightly and allowed Ryan to enter his room. Ryan was a little honored, that Gavin would invite him so easily, despite his palpable fear. There was a trust there, that Ryan was even more honored to have. A trust that meant even though Gavin was scared of Ryan, he knew Ryan wouldn’t move against him.

The Brit offered Ryan a seat in the desk chair, while Gavin himself sat to lounge on the bed with an energy drink he grabbed from the mini-fridge.

“So, what’s the footage ya need?” he asked.

The can hissed and popped as he opened it.

“The blood bank.” Ryan said.

Gavin made a face, furrowing his brows and scrunching up his nose.  _ “The blood bank?” _ he repeated as if making sure he had heard it right, at which Ryan gave a short nod. “Okay...? How much? Like, I mean, how far back d’you need me to go?”

“I think the last two weeks will be enough.” Ryan answered.

“All of it, or just, like, chunk of time?” Gavin questioned.

“All of it.”

The Brit made that same face again. “Y’know it’ll take a lotta time to go through it all.” he said. “Don’t think you can narrow it down?”

Ryan shook his head. “I have nothing but time.” he said. “Can you do it?”

Gavin shrugged, making a noise that reverberated through the aluminum can as he drank from it.

“’Course I can, mate!” he said, as though a little offended by the mere implication. “Take me a while, though. Think I could have it for ya by mornin’.”

“Thank you, Gavin.” Ryan said as he stood up. “I appreciate your help very much.”

“N-No problem.” Gavin stuttered, craning his neck quite a bit to be able to look up at him.

With that, Ryan moved for the door. He could almost feel Gavin’s eyes on him as he left.

“Oh, hey, wait!” the Brit called suddenly, springing to his feet.

Ryan stopped just on the threshold, and looked back to his friend.

“Just...uh, Geoff was gonna call ya tomorrow, to let you know your room’s done.” Gavin said and shrugged. “Thought, while you’re here, might as well tell ya.”

“Thank you.” Ryan said again, bowing his head in a gesture of gratitude.

“Yeah.” he heard behind him as he left. “No problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whats happened to me? here i am, posting at a reasonable hour


	8. Chapter 8

“That was fast.” Ryan said. “Two days. I thought it would take longer.”

Jack hummed. She stood just outside the door. Ryan had inspected the room last night after speaking with Gavin, to make sure it met his demands. Today was moving day, so to say, though. He had needed some hours to gather his belongings.Four metal crates stood in a neat pile in the center of the room, just under the metal bar, and his old steamer trunk sat beside the pile. For such a long life, Ryan had managed remarkably well to not hoard his belongings. He kept what he couldn’t possibly bring himself to part with, and left the rest behind. Dragging around boxes upon boxes of useless  _ stuff _ would only slow him down. A cooler sat there as well, filled to the brim with blood bags. It would do well enough, until he could put in a fridge.

“No one wants to disappoint Geoff Ramsey.” Jack said. “Plus, no one says no to money.”

Indeed, they did not, and it amused Ryan to no end. He supposed that with age, money had lost its value to him, in a way. He had enough saved up. If he,  _ by some miracle, _ ran out, he would always have time to make more. Or, he could just compel people into giving him what he wanted. To him, little slips of green paper and numbers on a screen meant close to nothing.

“So what d’you think?” the woman asked. “Good enough?”

Ryan nodded. “It’s perfect.” he said.

At that, Jack scoffed. Ryan wasn’t looking at her, but he didn’t doubt that she was shaking her head in that way of almost motherly disapproval.

“Fucking weirdo.” she muttered.

“So I have been told.” he remarked, turning at last. “I assume Geoff saved the receipts, as I asked?”

Jack pulled a folded grouping of papers from the back pocket of her shorts. Ryan moved to take them, when they were offered out to him.

“Let me get settled in, then I will set up a transfer.” Ryan said, slipping the papers into the inside pocket of his jacket. “The usual accounts, I assume.”

“Sounds good.”

She reached into another pocket, and pulled out two key chains; one with four keys on it, and two on the other. She placed them in the open had he held out.

“They’re numbered.” she said. “For simplicity’s sake.”

“Thank you.” he said. “Are you going to stand there all day?”

Jack shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest. “Maybe.” she said. “Haven’t decided.”

Ryan hummed. He closed the door. One after the other, he turned the keys in their locks, bolts clanging as they fell into place. When the last key turned, he let out a soft breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He was safe. This was safe. This was home now.

He pulled his gloves off. He removed the mask. He took off his jacket. He set his weapons aside, then removed his shirt, jeans, boots and socks. The Kevlar undersuit stuck to his skin like glue. He didn’t particularly like wearing it, but until he could be made a daywalker, he had to. Jeans and shirts and leather jackets could all be ripped and torn and broken. He had to have something stronger on, to protect himself; if he was still a purely nocturnal creature, he wouldn’t need it. But his work with the Crew demanded activity in the day as well, thus the need. Couldn’t have a stray bullet rip through his clothes and put his skin out there for God and the sun to see.

The zipper on the front went all the way from his jaw to his crotch. There was a sense of release when he undid it, and could slink out of the suit. As though he had been trapped in a second skin that was much too small for his body, but had finally been able to break free. If he actually  _ needed _ to breathe to live, he supposed it would be like being able to breathe again after choking for hours on end.

He stood in the windows, in only his boxers. He could feel the warmth of the sun even through the glass and the filter. He was so glad he didn’t have to fully black-out the windows anymore. Feeling the sun on his skin, its warmth and its glow...there was nothing like it. He could hardly wait until the moment he could feel it without glass in the way. Miles would find him a witch soon enough. He just had to be patient. Really, though, he had gone this long as a nightwalker, he could go longer, if need be.

Someone tapped on his door. Ryan sniffed the air. Gavin’s scent was easy to recognize; hair wax, sour apple scented deodorant, Earl Grey tea, energy drinks, and that misty musk Ryan knew was solely the Brit’s own natural smell. Ryan grabbed his mask and put it back on as he went to the door. He opened the small hatch that sat at eye-level. Lo and behold, there Gavin stood.

“Heyo.” he said, and held up a small portable hard drive. “I got that footage you asked for. The full last two weeks worth.”

“Thank you, Gavin.” Ryan said. “Pass it through.”

“Okay...?”

Though he seemed a little...put off by the request, he did it. He reached his hand through the hatch, and the hard drive along with it. Ryan took it off him. Gavin retracted his hand quickly. Ryan closed the hatch before the Brit got another word in. With this now available, he had no time to waste.

He moved his things out of the way, setting them along the wall instead. He opened the trunk, to find the pelt resting at the very top. A massive bear skin, that he had had in his possession for many years. He spread it out on the floor to sit on. He had always liked using pelts. It was a replacement for beds and desks and all kinds of furniture. He didn’t need anything but a good, comfortable pelt. Maybe it was a callback to the days when he was human and all the ‘furniture’ they had, we’re pelts just like this one. Sitting on it brought back memories of sitting around the fire with his family, telling stories and laughing and living. Hm, he was more nostalgic than he thought.

Gavin had organized the hard drive very neatly; two files for each day, twelve hours each, named for their dates and an addition number to discern whether it was the first or second part. He knew Elyse’s schedule by heart. She worked from eight to five, Mondays through Thursdays, and eight to three on Fridays. That was a total of forty-three hours of footage. He brought up the first part of the first day. It opened in several small video player windows, creating a patchwork of camera angles. He set them to play on quadruple speed; for him it was still easy to comprehend. Plus, it cut it down to roughly eleven hours to skim through.

But as he had told Gavin, he had nothing but time.

*

Four hours in, there was another tap at his door.

He would recognize Jeremy’s smell anywhere in the world. Gasoline, gun oil, protein powder, hints of alcohol, that lovely lavender body wash, and a cologne that Ryan could never get enough of.

Ryan set his laptop aside and got his mask back on again. Jeremy stood on his tippy toes to be able to look through the hatch when it opened, leaning against the door itself to keep his balance.

“Lil’ J.” Ryan said, hoping it conveyed the warmth spreading in his chest.

“Hey, V!” Jeremy replied, blinding Ryan yet again with a smile. “Pizza in the living room! We’re watching Geoff and Gavin try to perfect Peggle 2. Wanna join in?”

He wanted to. He really did. It sounded nice. Comfortable. It sounded like a night in with his friends, playing games and eating pizza and having fun together.

“No.”

Ryan closed the hatch.

He wanted to, but he couldn’t. He sat down on the pelt and grabbed his laptop again. He had to keep his distance. Getting attached only ever made him reckless; it lead to nothing but pain and suffering and death. Every single time Ryan got close to anyone, they died,  _ because that’s what humans do. _ Whether someone killed them prematurely or they lived to old age, they still died. Sooner or later, they were ripped away and Ryan was left alone.

Jeremy tapped on the door again.

“I...don’t know if ya can hear me or anythin’, but...” he said, voice low “We just wanna be your friends. You don’t have to do nothin’. Don’t have to eat, don’t have to talk. But please, just...give us a chance, man. You can’t be alone forever. ‘S not good for ya.”

The man was silent for close to a minute. Ryan listened and waited.

“Okay.” Jeremy said. “Well...uh. We’re out here. If you...y’know, change your mind.”

Ryan listened as Jeremy shuffled back down the hallway he had come from. He felt a little bad; he had been quite rude about it, hadn’t he? He cared for Jeremy. The least he could have done is let him down easy.

Ryan had had friends. He had had so many friends over the years, and they all went away in the end. They all went away and died, and left him behind. He was scared of it. Of being  _ that _ alone. He had lost so many people. He didn’t want to do it again. He didn’t want to suffer through that despair.

His phone buzzed.

_ Moonboy: _ ** Paleto Bay, Lindsay Circus, and Chumash. EVACUATE **

_ Moonboy: _ ** Sounds like it’s the same tipper, but can’t be sure. Working on it. **

_ Moonboy: _ ** Call me when you can, need to know you’re okay. **

 

 

Fuck...

Three safe houses at once this time? And he hadn’t found the woman in the footage yet. This was getting frustrating. People were depending on him, and he had  _ no idea _ what he was up against. It was giving him a damn headache. He sent Miles a text back, letting him know how things were; that they could have the safe houses, they weren’t important, he was somewhere else, somewhere more safe, he was working on sorting things out. Miles sent him a string of emojis that Ryan had a hard time deciphering.

The coven must have had their members tracking him, following his scent around the city to his safe house. They were trying to push him out. Weaken his hold on his territory. It had to be some kind of show of power.  _ Look at this, we know where you hide, come out and face us. _ Maybe he should have gone at it head first, retaliated from the first move against him. Showed them,  _ whoever they were, _ that he was not to be trifled with.

The sound of laughter echoed through the penthouse. The Crew was having fun.

Perhaps he should go to join them. He would be going to war soon, and who knew if he would survive it? Maybe one night of pretending he was human, that he was like  _ them, _ wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe it would even do him good. Let him... _relax, _ for once. Loosen him up before the fight. And maybe if he could see what he was fighting for, he’d be less inclined to give in to death.

Ryan put on his clothes again, but left the mask in his room. He had to show them his face sooner or later. He had to. He had already showed himself to Geoff, who had no doubt told Jack about it and then it had likely leaked out to the Lads. Everyone had to know Geoff had seen Ryan’s face. If he didn’t show the others, the trust would decay. They would believe he trusted Geoff more than he trusted them. There would be decay of trust, resentment toward both him and Geoff, and anger. He had to show them. Why not now?

If Ryan could sweat, he was pretty sure he would be drowning in it. He was nervous. He had to school himself not to clutch his laptop too tightly, to avoid crushing it in his hands.

He stopped in the doorway to the living room. One after one, everyone looked up.

“Hello.” Ryan said. “Lil’ J said there was pizza.”

*

Jeremy didn’t realize what was happening until Geoff totally fucked up a shot he should have been able to nail  _ in his sleep. _ It made him turn his head to look at the gent, only to see the man look absolutely  _ stunned. _ He quickly followed his gaze to the doorway, where...where Vagabond stood.  _ Without his mask. _

And  _ holy fuck, _ Jeremy had to have the best taste in men because  _ fucking Christ, _ he somehow fell ass over tits for this Greek god-looking motherfucker without even knowing what he looked like. He was pale as a sheet, with hair black as night. The hair was long as hell, falling at least to his chest, and framed his soft face. And his eyes, thank God for his eyes. Jeremy could swear he had never seen anything  _ that _ blue before. Tattoos crawled up and down his bare forearms; the art looked almost...medieval in style, and the blue ink was old and faded.

“Hello. Lil’ J said there was pizza.”

Jeremy, who sat on the couch with Jack, shuffled over to one side of the couch to make room. V took the hint. He moved over and sat down, looking around at everyone still staring at him.

“My...my name is Ryan.” he said.

_ Ryan. _

It fit him, in a way. He looked like a Ryan, to Jeremy. It sounded right.

“Uh...what kind?” Jack asked, gesturing to the coffee table where several pizza boxes sat.

Ryan smiled, and Jeremy was ready to shed his earthly bounds and transcend into a higher plane of existence because that smile was a religious experience.

*

“Pepperoni, please.” Ryan said.

She picked a slice, dragged it onto a paper plate, and passed it to Ryan.

Everyone was still watching him as he took a bite. He said nothing of it. For everyone there, except Geoff, it was the first chance they had ever had at seeing his face. He didn’t hesitate to say that they likely needed a moment to  _ drink it all in, _ as it were, and hoped it didn’t sound like he was stroking his own ego too much. One by one, they turned away; finished with staring at the moment, at least.

Jeremy was the last to look away, and Ryan knew why. The lad always started to smell sweeter the moment he realized Ryan was in the vicinity. It was the attraction and the lust that filled his scent, as though it had been dipped in caramel and rolled in powdered sugar. It was tooth-meltingly sweet. At the moment, Ryan was doing everything he could avoid needing to breathe, because the sweetness was almost drowning him. Jeremy was right beside him and smelled so strongly. It was hard to stay focused on eating his slice, and keeping his more monstrous side from pouncing at the smell. Ryan wondered if he smelled the same when Jeremy was around.

He opened his laptop and continued the security footage. He could enjoy this...this  _ haven _ for the night, but he still had work to be done. Work that could  _ not _ be ignored. Miles depended on him, Elyse and James depended on him, and the Crew depended on him. If he was defeated in this battle for territories, the victors would destroy anyone who had helped him, just to make sure their reign was unopposed. If he failed, they would all be slaughtered.

_ Stop. _

The footage froze. He clicked on the window where he had spotted her. It filled the screen. He let it play at normal speed just to make sure, but he would know that face anywhere, he could never forget it. This was  _ her _ doing?  _ She _ was doing this, teasing and poking at him to get him riled up?

Ryan pulled out his phone and called Miles.  _ No answer. _ He hung up and tried again.  _ No answer. _ Again.  _ Still no answer. _

“It’s me.” he told the voice mail. “Call me as soon as you get this. I need to speak to you. Don’t go home, don’t go to work. Just  _ call me, _ and hide until we can meet up.”

“You gonna share with the class?” Geoff asked as Ryan hung up.

He shook his head. “No.” he said. “Not yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooooooh playing the pronoun game!


	9. Chapter 9

Ryan was worried.

He had tried to call Miles another ten times, and still hadn’t gotten an answer. This was not good. Miles was young and weak and kind; he couldn’t fight to save his life, which would be the case at the moment. Ryan had to go looking for him. He had to. He had to make sure Miles was okay. Ryan stepped into his boots, got his jacket on, mask stuffed in his pocket, the sun was already down. He grabbed his guns and knives, and a set of ash-wood stakes from his trunk. The stakes burned his hands as he touched them; the verbena infusion was potent as hell. He hid them away on his person. He couldn’t afford her getting them away from him. He drank down a bag of blood before leaving his room.

When he did leave, he was met with the Crew. They all stood gathered in the hallway, looking varying degrees of disapproving.

“What’s goin’ on?” Geoff asked.

Ryan locked the door.

“My week is not up.” he said.

_ “Tough shit.” _ Jack bit. “Let us help you.”

“You have no idea what you are trying to get in on.” Ryan said. “These are forces  _ you _ cannot win against.”

He pushed past them, as he tied his hair back in a tight bun. He could hear them following him, but he ignored them. His phone rang as he reached the kitchen.  _ Moonboy _ blinked on the screen.

“Miles!” he said as he answered. “Miles, are you okay? Can you hear me? Are you hurt?”

_ “I’m fine!” _ Miles replied, and Ryan could feel some of the tension in his body bleed away. “I’m sorry, my phone died. What’s goin’ on?”

“Meet me at the reserve location. You remember where it is, right?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll meet you there.” Miles said. “Ryan,  _ tell me what’s going on.” _

“I can’t explain on the phone. Stay off the streets.” Ryan ordered. “Move quietly. Bring you weapons.”

“How many?” Miles asked.

“Whatever you have.” he said. “I fear if peace talks don’t work out, we may be going to war.”

“Okay. I’ll see you there.”

_ “Be careful.” _

“You too.”

He hung up as he reached the front door. The Crew was still on his tail. He stopped for a moment, exhaling a sigh. Geoff and Jack fixed him with matching glared when he turned to look at them. But Jeremy pushed past them to the front. He looked up at Ryan with eyes almost misty, worry painting his features.

“We’re your friends, V.” he said, the nickname warming Ryan’s heart. “We just wanna help.”

Ryan rested his hand on the short man’s shoulder, and forced a smile onto his lips.

“I know. And I appreciate it beyond description.” Ryan said. “But this... _ this, _ is my past coming back to haunt me. I couldn’t bear the thought of you,  _ any of you, _ getting hurt because of mistakes I made a hundred lifetimes ago.”

_ “But you’ll call.” _ Jeremy decided. “If you need help, o-or there’s trouble, or  _ anything. _ Okay?”

The vampire nodded, giving Jeremy’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“You have my word, Jeremy. If there’s trouble, I will call.”

*

The sand was kicked up in a storm as Ryan skid to a stop. The lights from the pier shone down at them through the cracks between the boards. Unassuming, unaware humans were having the time of their lives just above where they stood.

They embraced, and Ryan was relieved. He had talked to Miles just minutes ago, but it was good to see him, healthy and in one piece, in person.

“You gotta tell me what’s goin’ on, man.” Miles said as they parted. “I wanna help, but I  _ need _ to know what’s happening.”

Ryan nodded. He didn’t want to talk about it; he’d spent the last few centuries trying his hardest to put all of that behind him. But Miles was right. He would be no use in a fight if he didn’t know what he was fighting.

“Do you remember when we met up in Paris, in ’98?” he asked, to which Miles nodded. “I told you about my family. My...my wife. And my son.”

“Yeah.” Miles said softly. “Is this her?  _ Meg, _ right? That’s her name?”

“Yes. She is... _ unstable.” _ Ryan said. “It was bad before she turned, and worse after. And when we lost our boy...it didn’t get better. I couldn’t...I couldn’t be with her. It was too painful.”

Miles nodded along slowly. Ryan had told him enough. Not much, no, but enough for Miles to know the wide strokes of things.

“I don’t know what it is she wants from me, or who this man is that she is working with.” Ryan continued. “But I know Megan well enough to know that her intentions are anything but good.”

“Okay, so what do we do?” Miles asked.

They started moving, walking quickly away from the magic of the pier and down along the beach. Of the few nighttime beach-goers and bonfire-burners, no one seemed to pay them any mind. Ryan kept his voice low, still.

“I am not sure yet.” he said. “She will make contact, though.  _ That, _ I am certain of. It’s what she does. She...she likes to stir trouble and rub your face in it as you try to sort out the mess she has made. I am only glad she has not yet gone further than being a mild annoyance. Hopefully, she will realize soon that I know she’s here.”

“Why?” Miles asked, matching his Sire and keeping the volume of his voice down. “Do we really wanna go face to face with her?”

“Yes. The sooner, the better, really.” Ryan said, running his hands over his face.

He was tired. Beyond imagination. He wanted nothing more than to lay down and sleep. But, he knew that no matter how many hours he wasted on sleep, he would not be any less tired. Corpses weren’t meant to walk around for as long as he had.

“I have you to protect, and Elyse, and the Crew.” he said. “I need to drive her away. Kill her, if I must, as much as the very thought pains me...”

He felt Miles pat his back, and assumed the gesture was meant to convey support and understanding. Ryan felt supported and understood, anyway, no matter the implied meaning of the gesture. Even though he and Miles never saw eye to eye on most things, Ryan was glad to have him. It was... _ nice, _ to be able to speak openly to someone about the curse they shared and all that came with it. Gods knows he hadn’t done that in a long time, before Miles.

“Let’s go somewhere.” the boy said. “To see what kinda weapons we have, come up with a...a plan of attack. Figure out our next step.”

“Yes, I agree.” Ryan said.

“Lead. I’ll follow.”

Ryan nodded. They would have to go to the penthouse. It was the safest place he knew, for the time bing. Any other safe house could be compromised at any moment. At least in the penthouse, they would have some measure of security. Ryan knew Meg was...unstable, but even she wouldn’t let their shared monstrosity out in such a public forum. He hoped so, anyway. She had to remember that even in such modern days, there were always hunters sniffing about for any trace of creatures like them.

Most of all, he hoped she would contain herself, because of the Crew. He had told them the truth; if they were hurt because of him and his past, he wasn’t sure he would survive it.

A familiar flutter filled Ryan’s mind; flowing curls of hair, eyes like knives, the smell of pink roses and spring lilies.

He and Miles skid to a halt again, kicking up another sandstorm. They stared at the woman who stood before them, with big eyes.

“Hello, Raéhn.” she spoke.

Her voice was music, a wet finger running along the rim of a wineglass. It echoed and resounded. Ryan could feel the vibrations in his chest; it made his insides twist and curl.

“Or is it just  _ Ryan _ these days?” she asked.

Her smile was a weapon all on its own.

“Máechann.” Ryan said.

The name was old on his tongue; its sound was rough and coarse. So fundamentally unlike this divine revelation that stood before them.

“Megan.” he said.

She positively preened as he spoke the modernization of her name.

“It’s good to see you, Raéhn.” she said. “Really. It is.”

Ryan gave a jerky nod. His hand clasped around Miles’ wrist, and he dragged the boy to stand behind him. If she wanted to get to him,  _ for whatever perceived slight, _ Ryan would fight her until the end of days for it.

“You, as well, Meg.”

Perhaps he could sate her with words. Talk her back. He knew that was a battle he was likely to lose, but...he would try. He would always try.

“Truly, it is good to see you, my love.” Ryan said, appealing to her as best he could. “You know how I worry about you. I always fear that I may never again lay my eyes upon your face.”

Meg giggled like a blushing school girl, toying with her midnight blue curls.

“Don’t lie to me, Raéhn.” she said, between soft snorts that Ryan had once found irreparably endearing.  _ “I know you hate me!” _

So...a fight it would be then, Ryan supposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i <3 meg


	10. Chapter 10

There was some thirty feet between them where they stood. Meg on one side, a burning smile on her face, and Ryan and Miles on the other; Miles stood behind Ryan, gripping at his creator’s jacket for some sense of security.

Ryan took no joy in the prospect of fighting Máechann. They had been through that song and dance a hundred times, and still they both stood there. Ryan  _ couldn’t _ kill her, and she  _ wouldn’t _ kill him. He still felt too much for her, to be able to destroy her. The only reason she hadn’t killed him yet, was that she reveled in his suffering. She lorded it over him, and had done so for centuries.

“Why are you here, Máechann?” Ryan asked.

She laughed again. Ryan tensed as she reached into her pocket, and didn’t relax even when she only pulled out a pair of gloves.

“Because you killed our son.  _ My son.” _ Meg said, smiling still, as she put the gloves on. “And you deserve to suffer for it. So I am here, because you  _ care.” _

Ryan could feel Miles’ grasp on him tighten when Meg produced two slim stakes from the inside pocket of her jacket. He could smell the verbena on the wood. She took one in either hand.

“You  _ care _ about your people here.” she said. “So I’m going to kill them all.”

Oh, no...

“I’m going to drink their blood, rip them to pieces, and lay their bodies at your feet.”

Ryan found a stake of his own.

He had to kill her this time. He couldn’t let her live, and watch on as she slaughtered her way through the city. It hurt just to think about; she was the mother of his child, once the love of his life, and his best friend for so long. But he should have done it long ago. She had done this before; she had slaughtered and massacred, for no reason but to spite him.

Ryan didn’t want it, but...it had gone on long enough. Their boy, Eóchgarr...he died so long ago.  _ Edgar, _ Ryan supposed would be his name in these modern days, if he had still lived. Ryan hadn’t killed him,  _ that was the truth, _ but he hadn’t saved him either. But Ryan had...he had let go of his guilt. He mourned Eóchgarr, Edgar, every day. The grief burned inside him, because  _ his son _ was  _ dead. _ Ryan knew dying had been Eóchgarr’s own choice. He had begged Ryan to let him go, let him die. Máechann had tried to stop it, to turn him, but Ryan had physically  _ held her back _ as the last sparks of life left Eóchgarr. For  _ that, _ she had never forgiven him. Ryan had let go of the guilt over it. But Máechann had not let go of her hate and her anger.

Others had suffered enough for it. No more, as much as it pained him. He did care.

_ “But, _ before I get to them, I will deal with this... _ boy,” _ Meg spat, obviously referring to Miles. ”-that you seem to have seen fit to replace our son with.”

_ No. _

Miles cowered behind him, gripping at him for dear life. Meg wouldn’t take him.  _ Ryan wouldn’t let her. _

“You are here for  _ me.” _ Ryan said. “He plays no part in your game. Leave him be. This is between you and I.”

The woman scoffed. “This stopped being  _ between you and I _ the moment you let our son die.” she said.

She was faster than he remembered.

In an instant, she was inches away from him.

Pain blossomed.

The stake tore through Ryan’s throat. Blood gushed from the wound, disgustingly black and oily; the verbena rotted him from the inside out. He could feel it eating at him.

It wouldn’t kill him, not unless she stabbed through his heart, but it still felt like death in his veins.

Ryan collapsed into the sand. Blood spurted like a fountain. His hands were weak and shaking; he tried to stop the bleeding. He could barely summon the strength to move. He wanted to scream as Meg grabbed Miles by the throat. All that came out was a wet gurgle, blood spouting from both mouth and nose.

“You, will  _ never _ be our son.” Máechann growled at Miles.

With razor-like claws extended, he tried to pry her hand away. It was no use. She was centuries older than him; he was nothing more than a puppy yapping at a raging lioness.

Ryan tried to scream again. Another gurgle, a hoarse cry from a broken throat. The stake shattered into thick splinters in Meg’s hand as she tightened her grip on it. Some fell away, falling into the sand.

She punched through Miles’ ribcage without much effort. Miles was too shocked to scream. When she pulled her hand out, the splinters were gone; left in his chest as the skin and bones melded back together around them.

Miles collapsed.

He whined in pain, in agony.

The blinding, screaming, murdering pain made the Sire Bond flare up from simmering embers to the raging forest fire it had only been at Miles’  _ Birth. _ The Bond pleaded at him to protect Miles.

But he was too weak.

Even when Meg kneeled beside Ryan, he was too weak to reach out. Too weak to even just snap her neck and slow her down.

“He’s alive.” Meg said. “Your replacement son. He will be, for a little while. Until the splinters work their way to his heart.”

“W-...why?”

The word was more a noise than anything else. It was another gush of black blood, another desperate attempt.

“Because it’s fun, because I’m bored, because  _ I hate you.” _ she said. “The trifecta of why. Take your pick.”

When he got his hands on her...

_ There would be nothing left for the sun to eat. _

“Now you can make a choice. Either you can try to stop me. Fight me, even when you’re so weakened.” the woman continued.  _ “Or, _ you can try your damnedest to save your boy, like I tried to save my Eóchgarr.”

Ryan’s eyes flit from her, to Miles, and back. Miles was spouting blood by the mouth as well, by then. The ash-wood and verbena were eating through his chest. It wouldn’t be too long before they reached his heart. If even the smallest splinter punctured that precious muscle...he would die.

He couldn’t let that happen.

Ryan summoned what more strength he had left.

He grabbed at the stake in his neck. With one vicious pull, he ripped it out.

The black blood poured like a waterfall from the wound, as he crawled towards Miles.

He couldn’t let Miles die.  _ He couldn’t. _

“Let’s see how you like it, Raéhn!”

Máechann laughed behind him. The sound faded slowly as she ran away.

“Mi-“

He coughed, spitting blood onto white sand.

_ “Miles!” _

The boy was crying, tears and blood mixing on his cheeks.

*

Ryan had complained about the unlocked door before, but now he had never been more thankful for it. Still, it almost flew off it’s hinges when he kicked it open. He heard the Crew round up for a fight at the noise; guns loading and cocking, Geoff shouting orders, Jack calling to the B Team. He couldn’t care less at the moment.

The vampire flit through the penthouse, faster than a human eye could comprehend.

“Miles! Stay awake!” he said. “Don’t close your eyes! Look at me!”

The boy whimpered in his arms, burying his face in Ryan’s chest. Ryan kicked the chairs at the long dining room table aside.

“Good!” he said, laying the youthful vampire out on the table. “That’s good! Keep talking, Miles! Come on, my boy! You’re strong! Stay with me! You can beat this!”  


“What the fuck is this?!” Geoff screamed as they all trickled into the dining room.  _ “Who the fuck is he?!” _

As if to answer him, a tortured cry broke from Miles’ mouth, spit and blood flying. He grappled for Ryan; his hands begged for something,  _ someone, _ to hold. Ryan didn’t deny him, taking his hands for a moment.

“Stay awake, Miles! I’ll fix this!” Ryan told him. “It’ll be alright, okay?”

The stink of tainted blood was rancid. It was all over Miles, inside and out, and it covered Ryan too. The blood still flowed slowly from his neck, where the wound had yet to fully heal.

Ryan pulled away from Miles. He shrugged out of his blood-soaked jacket, throwing it aside. He didn’t care that the humans were watching, Miles was  _ dying, _ there was no time to waste. Ryan flit to his room, unlocking the door in a flash. He grabbed his sharpest knife, a pair of blood bags, and snatched a bottle of vodka in the living room on his way back.

The Crew still stood,  _ dumbfound, _ where he had left them. They stared in awe as he appeared, to their eyes, out of thin air.

“I’m here!” he called, setting his supplies down on the table. “I’m here, Miles!”

“Wh-What can I do?”

Ryan looked up.  _ Jack? _

“And me?”

Jeremy?

“H-How can we help?” Geoff asked.

Ryan shot them a curt nod, a  _ thank you _ and an acceptance of the offered help.

“Jack, Geoff, get him out of the jacket, cut open his shirt. Gavin, I need a big bowl of hot water.” he ordered quickly. “Michael, clean towels. Jeremy, get a bowl, fill it with vodka.”

They jumped to action; Gavin ran for the kitchen, with Jeremy in tow. Michael ran to find towels, or anything else clean to wipe blood with. Jack and Geoff sprinted to the table. Miles whined and cried as they pulled him up to sit.

Ryan ripped open a bag of blood, foregoing all manners.  _ Fuck manners, _ at the moment. He poured the blood into his own mouth, ignoring how it spilled over him and covered the floor around him. He needed to be steady for this.

Everyone seemed to convene at once; Miles was lain back down, shirtless then, as Gavin set a bowl of water beside his head. Michael threw down a pile of clean laundry,  _ shirts, pants, anything and everything, it didn’t matter, _ on the table. Jeremy poured the vodka.

“Stay with me, Miles.”

Ryan ripped open another blood bag. He tipped it over Miles’ open mouth, again without a care. The boys eyes went black as the blood filled his gullet and flowed into him. As though with renewed strength, he let out a gut-wrenching, eye-watering wail.

Ryan grabbed the knife.

He stabbed through the ribcage, just to the left of the sternum.

Miles screamed.

The others tried to hold him down, but they were no match. He threw them off himself without trouble. They resolved to keep their distance, it seemed then.

Ryan dragged the knife downwards. It broke every rib in its way through sheer force, opening him up all the way down to his navel.

Miles wailed again.

How could he not, when Ryan dug his hands into the giant wound?

He tore the ribcage apart, opening it fully.

“Jack, hold there.” he ordered. “Jeremy, there.”

They ran forwards, looking nauseous beyond belief. They stared into the abyss of Miles’ innards. But, they took hold of the folds of skin and bone and muscle and cartilage, even when blood spurted at them.

“Cover your mouths!” Ryan shouted.

They all pulled their shirts up over their noses like improvised masks.

“Talk to me, Miles!” he said.

He burrowed his hands into the sizzling mess the boys internals had become. The ash and verbena was  _ melting _ his organs.

Miles cursed and cried and screamed, kicked his feet and gripped at the tables edges with his hands. The wood cracked at his strength.

“It’s okay! It’s okay, Miles!” Ryan insisted, wiping a blackened hand across his own brow as though he had been sweating. “Keep talking! Stay awake!”

He grabbed a shirt and pressed it into the gore to soak the blood. With his other hand, he felt for splinters.  _ He had to find them! _

“I need more light!”

Michael appeared beside Jack, flashlight in hand. He directed the beam to where Ryan’s hands were buried.

“More blood!”

Geoff was there. He tore open the last bag on the table, holding Miles’ mouth open as he poured. Miles drank down all that he could.

Ryan dislodged a splinter from his lung.

The verbena singed his skin, but it felt like nothing.

He threw it into the bowl of vodka.

He dunked his hand in the water and worked again. He pulled two from the liver. Another from the stomach, and one more from the other lung. He could smell Gavin’s vomit, disgusting noises emanating from the kitchen. He could smell the death and rot and blood on Miles. He could practically taste it.

He had to find all the splinters.  _ Couldn’t give up now. _

Jeremy gagged beside him, turning his head away, as Jack dabbed away some of the blood with another scrap of fabric.

“You need to talk to me, Miles.” Ryan said.

_ “Drink!” _ the boy screamed.

“I gotcha!” Geoff said.

With his help, Miles could lift his head enough to drink from the bottle Geoff offered. Miles drank long and deep. Ryan could see his esophagus move as he swallowed it down. Geoff laid his head down gently once he was finished.

Ryan felt Miles’ hand wrap around his forearm. Miles looked up at him, blood and tears and snot and vodka staining his face. Ryan’s heart hurt.

He knew that look.

He had seen that look before.

That was how...

It was how  _ Eóchgarr _ had looked at him, when  _ he _ asked for death.

“’S okay...”

Ryan shook his head.

Words seemed impossible.

“’S okay, Ryan...I’m okay.” Miles choked out. “Let it go. Let it go...”

He shook his head again, fingers trembling as they searched for more splinters.

“No...Miles, no. Don’t. I can fix this.  _ I can fix you.” _

Miles’ grip on his arm tightened. He pulled Ryan’s hand out of his chest cavity, blood dripping. Ryan could feel the tears soaking his face.

_ This wasn’t happening again. _

“Plea-Please...” Miles pleaded. “I’m okay.”

_ Ryan couldn’t do this again. _

“Miles...no. Don’t...don’t make me watch again.  _ Please.” _

“I...I’m okay. Dying...I’m okay with it.” the boy groaned.

It seemed to take him considerable effort to make the words leave his mouth.

“Just...just hold my hand?”

_ Yes. _

If Miles wanted to die...it wasn’t Ryan’s place to stand in his way.

On his orders, Jack and Jeremy let go of the pieces of Miles they had held onto. Ryan carefully folded them back into place. It didn’t heal. It was as though his body knew Miles was on the verge of death, so why waste energy on healing?

Ryan pulled up a chair and took Miles’ hand. He held it to his face, kissing the knuckles. Miles deserved to feel loved and cared for as he died. It was the least Ryan could do for him.

“Tell...tell me...a story. Anythin’. Just...talk.”

He nodded.

“I was in Paris when they were building the Eiffel Tower.” Ryan told. “I would sneak into the cordoned off area at night, and sit under the tower. It was amazing to look at. When the morning approached, I would climb as high as it went, and try to count the stars before the sun rose.”

Tears streamed down both their faces.

The Crew were standing all around. Even Gavin had returned after his break to throw up.

The sadness was palpable.

“And you know I don’t drink much alcohol, but...sometimes I would bring a bottle of wine. Say a toast to...I don’t know,  _ the past? _ The now, the future? To the family I once had. My mother and father. Brothers and sisters. My wife. My...my son.”

Ryan swallowed hard. His voice was shaking. It was ready to give in.

Miles almost looked to be smiling.

“When he died...I never thought I would feel that kind of love for another person again. I did. I...I suppose I didn’t quite realize until now. I love you, Miles, like a brother. Like a son.”

Miles squeezed his hand.

“I wish you could have known Eóchgarr. I think you would have been good friends. Like brothers.”

Miles gurgled and choked on the blood in his throat.

“I wish I could have shown you all the things I loved about Paris. Walked down its streets with you, in the sun. I will miss you, Miles.”

Ryan forced a smile onto his face when Miles looked at him again. Miles offered out his right fist. Ryan tried to take it, of course, but found Miles only meant to drop something into his hand.

The ring?

The daywalker ring, in all its glory. Silver and obsidian, that both glinted even in the low light of the dining room at night.

“You...deserve it.” Miles said.

Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. There couldn’t be much let in him by then.

Ryan set the ring aside.

“Close your eyes, Miles.” he said.

Miles did as he was told.

Ryan pet his head.

“Just...fall asleep. Okay? Go to sleep. I...I’ll be here when you wake up. We’ll...we’ll have a cup of coffee. I’ll make it the way you like it. With too much sugar and too much creamer. And...I’ll tell you any story you want to hear.”

The Sire Bond was roaring like fire less than an hour ago. After so long of quiet simmering, Ryan had almost forgotten how that felt. But  _ never _ in all their years, had the flame gone out,  _ never _ had the Bond been broken.

And now...

The Bond went dark, and Death took what He was owed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanna say, Im away from home and I dont have access to a computer here, so this was written, edited, and posted on my phone. I did my best with it, but please, do let me know if you see any mistakes and Ill try to fix em up! <3

Everything was silent.

Ryan still held Miles’ hand. The others were watching still, too.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been; seconds, minutes, hours, who could say? It mattered little to Ryan. He would still be there in a day, a month, a year, a century. No matter how much time passed, he would remain. Everything would waste away, and he would remain. Los Santos would turn to ash, and he would walk away unscathed to find another home to burn to the ground.

A hand landed on his shoulder.

_Alcohol, nicotine, ink, blood, sweat, lilacs, adrenaline, coffee, shoe polish._

_**Geoff.** _

Blackness pooled in the vampire’s eyes. As if cut with a knife, the corners of his mouth split up to his ears and jaw unhinged. Hundreds of teeth pushed out through his gums, pointed like needles and sharper yet. His nails grew longer, into claws as brutal as cleavers.

Ryan moved faster than they could comprehend. Geoff didn’t even know it happened, until his back was against the wall and Ryan’s hand closed around his throat. Blood seeped from where the claws cut through his skin.

The man, and everyone else, screamed.

Ryan roared.

A deafening noise, that seemed to shake the whole building.

He released Geoff; the man sank to the floor, too shocked and terrified to stay standing. Ryan skittered up the wall, wailing like a banshee. He moved in nonsensical patterns across the ceiling.

_Miles was dead! Miles was dead, Ryan didn’t save him! Didn’t fix it, didn’t do it right, didn’t kill Máechann when he had the chance! The bitch! The cunt! Babylonian whore! Mother of lies, mother of treason, mother of murder! Defiler of the good! Defiler of the kind! Defiler of the just!_

_He should have let her die! Should never have bled himself for her! Should have seen her nature! Should have kept his promise to himself, and never put another soul through the turning! Should have torn her limb from limb when she was human, when she was weak and frail and mortal!_

_He would destroy her! He would ruin her! He would take from her all that she loved! He would burn her to ash, then burn the ashes! She would suffer for this! She would **burn** for this!_

The windows rattled at his shrieks.

He dropped from the ceiling. With ease, he turned his body to land on his hands and feet. Like a rabid animal, he barreled back at the boss.

With hands that had grown bigger, sinewy palms and boney fingers, he dragged the human to his feet. One hand easily wrapped around his neck.

“Do you see?!”

His voice was more like thunder than ever before; it rumbled and crackled and boomed, yet it did not come from his mouth. It screamed in the heads of the humans, but never met their ears.

 _“Do you see?!_  Do you see now, why I wanted you as far away from this as possible?! Because I involved Miles, and Miles is now dead! If she was so easily murder him, what do you think she will do to you?! Humans! Weak and breakable! That is your nature, and she will use it! _She will destroy you!”_

A bullet ripped through his side.

He wailed again, as he flit away.

He slammed into the windows across the room, a resounding boom filling the air.

He stopped there, forcing himself not to move any further.

_Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it! Keep it in, keep it down, throw the monster in the cage and slam the door! Anger breeds fear, fear breeds hate, theyll hate you!_

He reeled himself back in. He put the Devil back in His hole and covered it up.

The bones crunched and creaked and groaned in his hands as they shrank back to the right size. His jaw popped back into place and his teeth sank away. Though he did not need the air, he breathed through it. He inhaled as deep as his body would allow, and grounded himself in the pain of his fresh wound.

When he opened his eyes, he didn’t see the dark fog of the world and glowing heat of beating hearts, through the eyes of the monster. He saw the world as it was through human eyes; a gutted corpse on the table, black blood pooling on the floor under it, red blood where the bags had spilled, three terrified youths cowering in the corner, an old man on the floor reeling for air, a brave woman with determination in her eyes and a smoking gun in her hands.

“I’m sorry.” Ryan said, voice quivering. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.”

Jack didn’t lower her gun, and Ryan didn’t expect her to. _Why should she?_ They had all seen what a monster he was, and he had nearly killed Geoff. He wouldn’t fault any of them for wanting him dead by then.

Ryan groaned, his body expelling the bullet from his side. It gave a metallic clink as it hit the stone floor. The flesh knit itself back together. The wound closed.

Geoff coughed and wheezed across the room. The Lads, waking from their frozen state, ran to his aid. Jack followed, gun remaining trained on Ryan. With the help of Michael and Jeremy on either his side, Geoff could get to his feet. He grabbed Jack’s wrist. She resisted for a moment. She obviously didn’t want to let Ryan off the hook so easily. But her trust in Geoff’s judgment was stronger than her distrust for Ryan it seemed, when she finally gave in and lowered the weapon.

“You better,” Geoff started with a hoarse voice, but had to stop to clear his throat. “-have a damn good explanation. For all this.”

Ryan’s eyes went wide.

After _that,_  he was still willing to hear Ryan? Willing to let him live, willing to put some modicum of faith in him?

He nodded hastily.

“Then get cleaned up.” Geoff ordered, leaning on his Lads. “And someone cover the body. Respect the dead.”

*

Ryan scrubbed himself until his skin was red and raw.

The blood and dirt and grime washed away easy, and still he kept scrubbing. He felt...unclean. Dirty. As if Miles’ blood still clung to him. It dug its claws into him and wouldn’t let go. For a moment, he almost thought he might scrub hard enough to wash away the tattoos that covered his body.

Maybe he would get a new one; the first since he was human. Something in memoriam. After this was all over...perhaps.

The humans awaited him in the living room when he was washed and dressed. The remnants of their ‘fun night in’ were all around. He felt a little bad for having broken it up the way he had.

They were all nursing their personal favorites of alcohol as he entered. Something to soften the blow of all they had witnessed that night.

Ryan sat down in one of the empty armchairs. He said nothing. He would wait until they were ready to hear him, however long that might take. He ran his hands through his hair, tugging nervously at the black strands and sweeping them away from his face.

“Talk.” Geoff ordered.

His voice was still rough and hoarse, and the whiskey wasn’t doing it any favors.

“I’m sorry.” Ryan said. “About all of this. I...I had no intention of hurting you, any of you. _I swear._ It’s when...emotions run rampant, that it is hardest to control. I am truly sorry you all had to see that.”

No one looked at him. Most eyes were fixed at their owners drink, others on the floor or wandering to the cityscape outside the windows.

“I am, as you may have figured out, a vampire.” he said. “I drink blood. I am immortal. I am many times stronger and faster than a human. If you prefer it, I can make you all forget what has transpired this night.”

At that, all eyes landed on him.

“I could make you forget all that you have seen and heard tonight. You will wake up tomorrow and only remember sitting here, eating pizza and watching Geoff and Gavin perfect Peggle 2.” he continued. “All knowledge of what I am, and all memory of Miles, will be locked away out of your reach. But, for that to be successful, you would all have to agree to it. Three can keep a secret if two are dead, and five can do the same if none remember it.”

Michael sighed, burying his face in his hands. “This is so messed up...” he groaned.

Ryan agreed. It was messed up.

Since he had just overturned their world-view, he sat silent then, and allowed them the time to try to wrap their minds around thing.

“Ho-...” Jack attempted, but stopped herself.

She seemed uncertain of what to say.

“If you have questions, I will try to answer them.” Ryan offered.

Jack nodded. _“How?”_ she asked, slightly more confident at that. “I mean, how’d you...end up like this? How’d you become...”

She made a short gesture with her hand, at his whole being. Ryan understood what it was she was asking, even though she couldn’t bring herself to say the word.

“I was Sired. Turned, by another vampire.” he said. “He fed me his blood. The thirst overtook me. I drank the blood of a human, and so the transformation was completed.”

“When?”

Ryan turned his eyes to Jeremy, who had posed the question. The human sat wedged in between the other Lads, wide eyes fixed on the vampire. He was wringing his hands and picking at his nails; he was nervous. The whole room stank of anxiety and fear and anger. The five sets of scents made for a muddled image in Ryan’s head. They were all heavy, thick and overbearing. He wished he could turn off his sense of smell.

“When what?” he asked.

Jeremy’s brows furrowed. The stark red in his hair made the expression look so much more angry than it probably was.

“When did it happen?” the human asked bitingly. “When d’you… _turn?”_

Ryan hummed.

“It’s hard to say. In those days, we didn’t really number the years.” he explained. “We counted seasons. Tracked the phases of the moon, the tides. Things like that. But, that is not to say that I haven’t tried to do the math, once I actually _learned_ to count. I was somewhere around thirty years old, when I was turned. I don’t know the exact year, but if my math is correct, it was somewhere in the tail end on the ninth century.”

Wide eyes grew wider yet.

Understandable. He had just told them he was over a thousand years old.

“My mother named me Raéhn, upon my birth. As I grew older, my tribesmen started calling me Raéhn Taisdealach. Raéhn, the Wanderer. Raéhn, the Vagabond.” he continued again. “As a child, I had a habit of running away from home. Walking miles upon miles across the moors. And for no other reason than...I wanted to see what was on the other side. My sisters always teased me for it. Father would have to chase after me for hours to drag me back to the village.”

He couldn’t help the smile that filled his lips. He hadn’t thought about those days in any great detail, in a long while.

“And Miles?” Geoff questioned. “Who the hell was he?”

The smile went as quick as it had come. Ryan inhaled a deep breath; out of sight from the humans, he extended one claw and bored it into his own palm. The twinges of pain were a good way to tie himself to his humanity. To keep himself from unwillingly shifting to his more monstrous form.

“He was...my Sire. I created him.” he said.

It was hard to say _was,_  instead of _is._

“His turning was an accident. It was never meant to happen. I...I never wanted to put anyone through that process, through the grief of it all. It was in 1953. He was...26. 27. Something like that, I’m not certain. It was in Oregon. A small town near the coast. I was a night janitor at a hospital. It was an easy and subtle way to feed myself. I only drank from those who wouldn’t live past the night. Probably saved some of them a lot of pain. Made their passing quick and peaceful. Miles was in the polio ward. It was a stupid accident. My fault. I cut my hand, I bled. I wanted to kill him right away. Save us both the pain. But...I couldn’t. I simply... _couldn’t._  The Sire Bond we shared wouldn’t let me. It made me...love him like a son. Like family.”

They looked at him with sympathy. He appreciated the notion. At least they still looked at him as though he was human, and not a monster.

“Who killed him?” Gavin asked.

The Brit still looked nauseous. He smelled like vomit still, too. Ryan didn’t fault him for his weak stomach.

“My wife.” Ryan said.

Someone gasped. Someone swore as they dropped their drink in shock.

“Wh-... _Why?”_ Jeremy asked. “Why would she do that?”

Ryan took a number of deep breaths, driving his claws further into his palm.

“Because she blames me for the death of our son. Eóchgarr. He was two when I turned. His mother, my wife, Máechann, grew ill some months after my turning. I...I couldn’t bear the thought of living without her, of raising our son without her, of Eóchgarr never knowing her. So I turned her. And for years, things were perfect. Our tribesmen revered us, vampires, as children of the gods.” he told, and let out a melancholy snort at once having been considered a divinity. “They gave us their blood willingly, and in return, we, with all our might, protected them from any harm we could.

“When...when Eóchgarr was 19, I believe it was, as I said, keeping track was difficult in those days, he too grew ill. It was only a fever. But in those days, fever was a formidable killer. Máechann wanted to turn our son. Make him like us. Save his life, and let him live forever. I tried to tell her that it should be _his_ choice. That we should not force our demons upon him. But she wouldn’t listen. She refused the very notion of surrendering our son to death. One night, when she was out caring the borders of our lands, I sat with my son. He cried so horribly. It hurt me to sit beside him, unable to _fix it._ I too, wanted to save him. But...it was not my decision. He looked at me and he cried and he begged me to… _let him die.”_

Ryan wiped his cheeks hastily.

He hadn’t intended to cry. He supposed most people never really did. He was glad that the humans didn’t try to interrupt him, or comfort him. It was hard enough to speak of on its own. The grief sat in his throat like a brick, making it close to impossible to get the words out.

“And I told him there was a choice. That I could turn him, right then and there, and save his life. But again, he told me to let him go. He begged me to release him. I gave him my knife. I hugged him tight and kissed his head. I would have sung him to sleep, but I could hear Máechann returning. I knew she would never let Eóchgarr go through with it. She would turn him by force, if she had to. I held her down, and…we listened as Eóchgarr slit his wrists and bled out in his bed. She hates me. She has ever since that moment. She blames me for his death, and believe me, _I_ blame _me_ too, but she cannot control her anger.

“For centuries, she tormented me and followed me like a shadow wherever I went. Ripped away anything I cared about to punish me for what I did. The only reason I joined this Crew, and allowed myself to care, was I had not seen her, or heard of her, since the eighteen hundreds. I thought…I thought perhaps a hunter got the best of her. Or another of our kind slew her. Or anything at all. I thought her dead. If I had known…”

He dried his face again. The tears were more fear than grief, by then.

Because _he cared._

He cared about Geoff and Jack and Jeremy and Michael and Gavin, he cared about them all. They were…his friends, as much as he had tried to resist it.

Ryan's carelessness had already cost Miles his life. He wasnt going to let it take them as well.

“You are all in danger. She has already made threats to your lives.”

“Then tell us how to kill her.” Michael insisted. “If this bitch wants a fuckin' fight, I'll give a goddamn fight.”

Though he appreciated the almost patentable fire in the Jersey boys eyes, that fire would do Michael little good. Maechann would snuff it out, with ease.

“Michael, I could snap your neck with the touch of a finger.” he said, frost biting at his voice. “You would be nothing but a game for her. Playing with her food before she eats it.”

The human sneered at him, but said nothing more.

“Then what the hell d'we do?” Jack asked.

Ryan took a deep breath. He extracted the claw from his palm and allowed it to sink back into the nailbed. The small wound began to stitch itself back together.

“I don't know.”

*

Ryan sewed Miles’ chest back together. A big needle, meant to sew leather, and a thick, black thread. Made sure the stitches were nice and straight, and his ribs sat as they should, or as well as Ryan could make them sit. Broken as they were, it made his torso look strange and deformed. Swollen, almost. He emptied the bowl of dirty water into the sink and refilled it, water so hot it steamed about it, and grabbed a sponge. He set to cleaning Miles. He scrubbed away the blood, and hopefully, the misery with it.

It was a...a soothing process.

Ryan thought back to the things they had been through together. He hadn’t been too kind to Miles. Treated him more as a pest than a friend, most of the time. He supposed he had been angry with himself, with what he had done to Miles, and with his inability to end Miles before the boy realized eternal life was eternal suffering. He should have killed him in that hospital, like smothering a baby in the crib, as soon as the blood got on him. It would have been a mercy.

He wiped down the table as best he could, once Miles was clean. Wouldn’t want to stain the shirt. He dressed the boy then, moving him carefully. The white button-up, offered freely by Geoff, suited him quite well. It was a little big on him over the shoulders and the sleeves a little too long, but it was good enough. A perfect Windsor knot in the black tie, which Geoff had also given. His hair was short, there wasn’t much to brush, but it brought it to some semblance of order at least.

He looked peaceful like that.

Ryan picked up the ring. He slid it onto his left ring finger.

It was heavier than he expected. He didn’t feel any different. Maybe...maybe it didn’t work on him? Maybe it was only meant for Miles? He supposed he would find out at sunrise.

He cleaned up around the body. He set the bowl of vodka alight. It was best to burn the splinters. With the verbena and blood on them, Ryan didn’t want to risk anything. He would have to burn their improvised towels too, and any clothes that had been bled on. But that could be done later. Not a priority, at the moment.

They all stood around the table. The body, once covered by a now dirty tablecloth pulled from a dusty wardrobe somewhere in the penthouse, had been rewrapped in a fresh white sheet. Ryan was almost said the boy's face was covered. He wanted to look at it for as long as possible, to commit it to memory.

“What now?” Geoff asked, looking to Ryan.

Ryan could see so many things on the man’s face. It was extremely expressive. Ryan liked that. Skepticism, confusion, anger, sadness, disgust, sympathy. Understanding. He didn’t understand what was going on, no, but he understood that Ryan knew what to do and what needed to be done.

The vampire cast a look eastward. He couldn’t see the horizon fully from the dining room, but he saw enough. The dark of night was drawing to a close, to give way to the will of the sun.

“I give us both to the sun.” Ryan said, turning his eyes to Geoff. “It will take Miles. As for me? We shall see.”

The ring seemed to weigh a ton on his finger.

He moved to take Miles in his arms.

Jeremy hurried to his side. With shaking, yet gentle, hands, Jeremy helped to get the body into Ryan's arms. He rested the head against Ryan's chest and improved his grip on the legs. Ryan gave what he could as thanks, a heavy-hearted little smile and a slow nod. Jeremy returned the nod, then stepped back again.

*

Jeremy helped set the body down on the helipad. V, Ryan, _still getting used to that,_ was thankful, it seemed. Jeremy might not have known this guy Miles, or understood any of what the hell just happened, but it was obvious Ryan cared for him. So Jeremy would do all he could to be there for Ryan, now when he had lost someone that was so close to him.

He stepped back once the body lay in peace. He joined the Crew where they stood, some feet behind Ryan. They all looked just as confused as Jeremy felt.

They watched silently, though, as Ryan continued to go about things. The man unwrapped the body. He opened the sheet and spread it wide, so that Miles rested in the center of a big white square. He moved the boy's legs, outstretched to their full length and feet together, and his arms, carefully rested at his sides. He pet Miles' head again, before standing up.

“When I bled on you, I stole you from Death.”

His voice sounded heavier than Jeremy had ever heard.

“The only sense I can make of this…is that Death wanted you too badly to let you live on any longer. Wanted your kindness. _Your goodness._ You were always good. Most of all, when I wasn't. When I was angry and hateful and violent…you only smiled, and tried even harder to make me kind as well. Thank you, Miles. I will never forget you, my friend. My son, my brother, my ward, my Sire. You were so many things, but you were _never_ deserving of the cruelty of this world and of this life that we lead.”

The sun was just under the horizon.

Though they became even more confused, no one said a word when Ryan started taking his clothes off. He dragged his shirt over his head. Ryan threw the shirt aside. He toed out of his boots and pulled his jeans down, stepping out of them as well. He stood before them in only his boxers; his whole body was covered in ink. The art filled his skin. Jeremy had never seen anything quite like it.

His body was so filled with ink, that it was almost only a blur of colours; most of it was a deep blue that had gone lighter with age, with red, green, yellow, and black ink here and there. Swirls and spirals and symbols, signs from a language that was long dead, flowers and trees climbed up his arms, crudely drawn fish and wolves and cows and birds filled in every space they could, axes lain as an X covered much of his sternum. As he turned back to look at the horizon, they saw the long spears that ran down his back; spear-heads in black over his shoulder blades, and staffs, in yellow, that followed the curve of his back down to the hem of his boxers. The spears continued out from under the legs of the underwear too, reaching as far as to mid-calf.

Ryan seemed to hold hid breath as the sun finally crept over the horizon.

The moment the sun hit Miles' body, it burst into flames. _How,_ Jeremy couldn't say. The skin just seemed to…ignite. White flames consumed the corpse in nothing more than a handful of seconds. The air smelled of charred flesh and death.

*

Ryan watched Miles be eaten up.

It was painful to look at. The sun was the cruelest god Ryan had ever worshipped.

And yet, despite the grief and anger and sadness, the tears he cried were of joy. The sun…he could see it. He was looking right at it, no glass to separate them. He could feel it's warmth on his skin and it's light and it's glow, and it was astonishing. For the first time in over a thousand years, _he was standing in the sun!_ He was standing there, watching the sunrise! He had dreamt of this, since the moment he realized the sun had turned it's favor away from him.

He sobbed unabashedly. He reached his hands out at the sun, as if to embrace it. He could touch it if he wanted to. If he wanted to, he could just reach out and take the sun in his hands and hold it to his chest and show it how much he had missed it.

The white flames reached high into the sky with him.

When he turned around, the Crew were staring at him. He probably looked totally insane. Standing close to naked over the burning corpse of a man who had been like a son to him, with tears pouring down his face but wearing a smile wider than any smile he had ever smiled before.

Jeremy, Ryan realized, was much faster than given credit for. One moment he was _there,_ with the others, and the next he was _here,_ wrapping his arms around Ryan. He couldn't help himself. The smile soured until the sobbing was not joyous any longer, but only grieving. Jeremy guided Ryan's head gently, so that his face was buried in the human's shoulder. Ryan let him. Jeremy hushed him softly, running a hand over the vampires hair and petting his back. Ryan clung to him for dear life.

The fire crackled behind him for some moments longer. Finally, it fizzled out and left only white ash behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine a fully 'shifted' vampire would look kinda like the wendigos from Until Dawn? Y'know, sorta stretched out, thin and emaciated, boney hands and fingers and shit? Except my vampire has black eyes and a much bigger mouth, as I have described. Also,  
> MILES, MY SUNSHINE CHILD, MY MOONBOY, MY SON, IM SORRY, IM SORRY I KILLED YOU OFF, I NEEDED A CATALYST FOR CONFLICT


	12. Chapter 12

Jeremy lead him back down to the penthouse. Ryan was relieved to hear that the others were going to collect the ashes in a box or urn or whatever they had on hand, for Ryan to do with as he pleased. What would he do with it? Save it? Spread it? Bury it? He would have to think long and hard about it. No rash decision. This was Miles’ final resting place; it had to be  _ perfect. _

Ryan was confused when he awoke from his thoughts and found himself standing in Jeremy’s room. It would seem he wore the confusion on his face, when the human spoke up.

“I...thought maybe you’d wanna rest for a bit.” he said. “And Geoff said you don’t have a bed in your room, a-and I don’t even know if v-vampires need sleep, but...I thought laying down would be good. For you. Let ya, y’know, gather your thoughts and stuff. And I can go, if you wanna be alone! Or I could stay.  _ I mean! _ I-If you wanna talk or anythin’. But we don’t have to talk if you don’t wanna.”

He smelled like lust. The sweet scent of his blood, the sound of it rushing through his veins as his heart pounded faster and harder.

Ryan ignored what his senses told him. His rational mind knew that now was not the time for anything of that sort. There would never be a time for it, until Máechann had been dealt with.

He slithered in under the covers and inhaled Jeremy’s distinctive scent. It was a comforting thing, to be wrapped up in it. He heard the door open, and Jeremy move to give Ryan some privacy.

“Wait.” he said.

Jeremy stopped. He turned, and showed Ryan the meaning of gentle. The look in the human's eyes was so soft and curious and loving, and the small curve of his lips made for a careful smile; as if he wanted to show love and support, but was uncertain of how to do it, other than to simply...be there.

_ “Stay.” _ Ryan said. “Please. I...I don’t think I want to be alone.”

The human nodded. He closed the door again. Ryan watched him shuffle over to the small desk pressed to the tall windows that filled one of the walls. He sat down in the chair and rolled closer to the side of the bed.

“D’you...wanna talk? Or just...have it quiet?”

Ryan wasn’t sure. He always wanted to talk to Jeremy, but...now he wasn’t certain of what to say.

“I don’t know.”

The human nodded slowly. Ryan stared up at the white ceiling.

What was there to say? He was lost for words. As if the grief had reached into him and stolen his voice away. Words seemed like the most foreign thing in the world.

He felt empty. It was a strange emptiness; not the usual kind he felt, the void that screamed for blood and murder, but something altogether different. Like he was standing in an empty room, with no doors or windows, and wherever he turned  _ something _ was just out of eyesight, and if asked, he wouldn’t for the life of him be able to say what that  _ something _ was. He just knew that...he would never be able to lay eyes on that  _ something _ again. Never see it, never touch it, never speak to it.

The  _ something _ was gone.

“Can...” Jeremy said hesitantly. “Can I ask you somethin’? I mean, you don’t have to answer if you don’t feel like it. I’m just...tryin’ to wrap my head ‘round all this.”

Ryan supposed he owed Jeremy that, owed it to them all.

“Ask.” he said. “I will answer what I can.”

Jeremy nodded.

“Where are you from?” he asked. “I mean...what was it like? Back then.”

Ryan sighed softly to himself. Not because of the question itself, no, not really. More because...this was strange. He had told humans what he was before, several times, but he had never told anyone more than they  _ needed _ to know to be able to serve their purpose. And...now that he thought about it, no one had really asked. Sure, there were the usual questions about vampirism itself, and perhaps going so far as to inquire about the process of turning, but no one had been particularly interested in who he was before it all.

“Scotland. Or, what it Scotland today.” he said. “My people were the Picts. The English called us the painted people, because of our tattoos. You could look at anyone of us, and know everything there was to know about them.”

“But  _ why _ d’you get tattoos? Is there, like, a point to it? Or d’you just do it ‘cause they’re pretty?” Jeremy asked, in a joking tone.

Ryan chuckled lowly, massaging the bridge of his nose to quell the headache he could feel creeping up on him. He was...tired. Sleep would do him no good, he knew, and yet he longed for its embrace. He longed for those moments of bliss, where he could  _ turn off _ for a little bit and not feel all these... _ emotions. _

“We believed that our Gods were all around us. In the ground, the sun, the animals, the trees. So...because we couldn’t speak to them, we showed them instead.” he explained. “We thought that if we showed them who we were and what we did, they would understand us and give us their favor. See, these mean I am a warrior.”

He tapped his chest, and the axes that were woven into his skin. Jeremy leaned in, no doubt taking the opportunity to get a closer look at the art.

On the left side of his neck was a flower, which looked reminiscent of a rose.

“I was married.”

On the other side, was a bow and arrow. The symbol was conspicuously small, Ryan knew, and there was much clear skin to draw more of them on. But...he had needed only one.

”My wife bore me a child. A son.”

He almost wished he had more of them, little bows and arrows to count his blessings.

“They’re really beautiful.” Jeremy said. “I think that’s pretty cool. I mean, putting your life-story on your skin like that, for everyone to see.”

Ryan nodded.

“I was given the first when I was only a child. Nine, or ten, I think.” he said. He showed his right forearm, and drew attention to the small, black bird just above where his elbow crooked. “That was my first. My father gave it to me after I learned to use my bow, and shot a raven out of the sky. It hurt so much.”

He was smiling as he retold the short little story. It was sort of nice, to be free to talk about those old days.

Jeremy listened with wonder in his eyes. As if Ryan was telling him the most magical tale. It made Ryan  _ feel _ magical. He was far gone for this human boy, and he knew it. Getting attached was a horrible idea, that leas only to pain. But if the pain meant that he had had Jeremy for his own, even for just the short time that was the human lifespan?

That would be worth all the pain in the world.

*

Ryan opened his eyes.

He had fallen asleep? He had almost forgotten what that was like. His body felt soft and...floaty, in an odd way. He was relaxed. He was no less tired than he always was, no, but he felt...refreshed. Reborn, almost. Hm, maybe he should see about getting a bed in his own room after all. Sleep seemed to do wonders for him.

He sat up and looked around, inhaling Jeremy’s thick scent. It lay heavy in the room, telling that this was  _ his _ and no one else’s. But, Jeremy himself was nowhere to be seen. Not strange, Ryan supposed. Jeremy had probably excused himself after Ryan fell asleep, to allow him to rest in peace, as it were. That was kind of him. Ryan would have to thank him for that, and for everything else. He really wasn’t sure what kind of mess he would be at the moment, if Jeremy hadn’t tried so hard, and succeeded, to comfort him.

Well...succeeded and succeeded; Ryan wouldn’t go so far as to say Jeremy had plucked the grief out of him, that was impossible. Ryan would feel it for a very long time. But...he had softened its blow. He had been someone to keep Ryan grounded in his humanity. If he hadn’t had that...well, like he told the Crew, the monster was hardest control when emotions were running rampant.

Ryan looked down at himself. Oh, right, he was still in his boxers. Hm, when he pictured himself, in his underwear,  _ in Jeremy’s bed, _ this was  _ not _ the scenario he had had in mind. He got out of the bed. He flit to his room and dressed, searching the penthouse for activity with his ears as he did. Geoff and Jack were in the boss’ office. Michael and Gavin were in the Brit’s room, quietly conversing about  _ what the hell they had witnessed that night. _ No sounds of Jeremy. Odd. Perhaps he was downstairs with the B Team.

Deciding to play it politely, he skid to a halt at the office door and knocked. He didn’t enter until he heard Geoff’s acknowledgment.

Jack sat in an armchair by the windows, absentmindedly walking her fingers over the expanse of the globe that stood just beside her chair. Geoff was behind his desk, just closing his laptop as Ryan shut the door behind himself.

The tang of Geoff’s fear oozed from the man’s skin, filling the air.

“Ryan.” the boss said, voice tight and forcefully made emotionless.

“Geoff.” the vampire mirrored, with a polite bow of his head to his superior.

The human cleared his throat. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

Ryan moved to sit down in one of the chairs before him. He froze when Geoff’s breath hitched and he flinched back in his seat. How silly of him. Of course he had frightened the man. Ryan could see the red, irritated dots on Geoff’s neck, where Ryan’s claws had broken through his skin. He stepped back, until he was almost fully pressed to the door.

“I wanted to say, thank you for your help. Last night, and this morning.” Ryan said, and hoped he came across as sincere as he meant to be. “And...I apologize. I know I frightened you. I...I didn’t mean to. I lost control, and I hate myself for it. I want you to know, that I would  _ never _ hurt you, Geoff. I would sooner  _ die, _ than hurt  _ anyone _ in this Crew. But, if you see fit to punish me for my transgression, I understand, and I will gladly take whatever punishment you deal.”

The humans watched him.

The scent of Geoff’s fear was pungent in the air, and mixed sluggishly with the traces of Jack’s as well.

“Yeah.” the boss said. “I know. It’s...it’s fine. I just...”

Ryan waited patiently, as the man swallowed dryly.

“Need some time to, y’know...get past it?”

The vampire nodded. “Of course. If you wish, I can make myself scarce around the penthouse, to ease this difficulty for you.” he said. “I will make this up to you however you would like me to.”

“Yeah.” Geoff said, and paused for a moment to scrub his hands over his face. “You can...y’know, stick around. Just...you and me? Respectable distance. Okay?”

Ryan bowed his head again. “Of course.” he promised. “I will make certain of it, you have my word.”

“Good. Get out.”

He turned to do just that, but stopped as he remembered.

“Would either of you happen to know where Jeremy is?” Ryan asked. “I would like to speak with him.”

Geoff shrugged, and they both looked to Jack to hear if she had any information to supply.

“Left a while ago.” she said. “Don’t know where to, though.”

“Thank you.” Ryan said, and was off.

Then Jeremy would have to wait.

Ryan still had to handle Meg. At least he knew where to start.

*

Clumps of sand and dried black blood littered the place where they had faced the woman. Some carried Ryan’s own scent, mixed into the nauseating stink of rot, and some carried Miles’. Ryan refrained from breathing, to keep from throwing up.

It was alright. The tides would come in soon, and wash away what remained. That was what they did, both time and the tides. Washed away the dead and all traces of them.

The water was already lapping at his boots. It wouldn’t be long now.

It was strange to stand there, with the midday sun beating down on him. He wore the mask. People on the beach had screamed and ran for their lives when they saw him coming. It was habit, to put it on when he went outside. But...he didn’t need it anymore. He pulled his second skin, his silicon cocoon, off and inhaled the world. All of it; the sand, the water, rancid rotting blood, Miles’ scent, candy floss and popcorn wafting from the pier, ashes from the fire pits.

Máechann’s sweet, juicy scent, which reminded him of ripe red apples and meadows filled with wildflowers in bloom.

How could Ryan ever forget the smell of her? Not when he had once upon a time lain with her, buried his nose in her hair and breathed her in as deep as he could, and then some more, to etch the scent into his mind.

It would be easy to follow.

He would not let her get away with her cruelty. Not this time. Not again,  _ not ever again. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Picts were a real people, that populated most of Scotland once, the timeperiod escapes me at the moment. They were indeed very heavily tattooed, according to the very limited sources that mention them. Since the info on them is quite limited, I did kinda make up everything Ryan said about them. Yay for artistic liberty!!
> 
> ALSO,  
> I have some ideas for a Game of Thrones inspired AH fic, and I was kinda just wondering if that's something y'all'd be interested in reading. So yeah, let me know, I guess??? If I should write more??? And post it???


	13. Chapter 13

Her scent was distinctive, but it was harder to track than Ryan had thought it would be.

In such a big city, there were too many scents; too many things and people that smelled too similar, and sent him on a hundred wild goose chases. He would almost say she did it on purpose. Her movements were erratic. She was running him in circles.

Ryan was getting more impatient and more angry by the minute.

He sat down on a bus stop bench. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply and slowly. Impatience and anger would get him nowhere. It was likely what she wanted, really. For him to be so riled up that when he finally found her, he would act without thinking, strike without strategizing. It would only get him hurt. And if he was weakened again...he didn’t want to think about what ways she would torture the Crew. He didn’t want to imagine the pain on their faces as she ripped them limb from limb. He couldn’t take it. Not now, not so  _ soon _ after Miles, preferably not ever. Preferably, they would all live long into old age and die in their beds, peacefully and painlessly, surrounded by friends and family.

He would find her. He knew he could,  _ and would, _ do it. He would find her, and  _ end her. _ He had said it before and he would say it a hundred times more...he didn’t  _ want _ to hurt her, but he had to. If not for himself, then for Miles, and everyone else Máechann had ever hurt. Ryan wanted vengeance; he wanted to watch Máechann suffer and bleed, and burn alive. But vengeance wasn’t justice.  _ Justice _ would be to fight her head on, and try to make her death swift. He could be the better person; spare her the suffering she had caused others.

Ryan inhaled the scents of the city again. The hunt was not yet done.

*

He seized his breathing.

This had to be it. All trails lead to this point. Máechann had to be here.

It was a small motel on the edge of the desert where the scent of cheap mini-bar liquor and moldy walls almost overpowered the vampire’s scent, which were likely also reasons as to why she had chosen this place; it was small, remote, and out of the way, nearly bare of people but carried enough to sate her thirst, and the stink was potent enough to disguise her.

He wouldn’t attack now, if he could avoid being detected. He would have to get his hands on some proper weapons, and to drink himself full. Not now, but soon. There was no time to waste. He knew now what pit she slithered away into. His attack would be swift and strong, he would leave her no ground to give. There would be no mercy.

Wait.

_ What was that? _

He tried his hardest to extend his hearing just a little further. There was a noise, a sound, that he knew. One he just simply could not mistake. He knew that heartbeat. He had heard it a million times before. It was like a fingerprint, the sound of a heart beating inside someone’s chest; it was in how the sound moved through their body, how it vibrated in the flesh and rattled in the bones. And  _ this _ vibration,  _ this _ rattle...he knew it like the back of his hand.

Ryan hazarded to take a breath, to try and catch the scent even under all the layers of disguise.

No.

Oh, no, no, no, no...

_ Jeremy... _

How could he?

Ryan wanted to  _ die. _ If he had  _ needed _ to breathe, he would have been incapable. The world seemed frozen. How could Jeremy do this? Lie so well, that even Ryan could not tell? How could Ryan miss the skip of the heart, the waver in the scent, the micro-expressions and tells? Ryan had told Jeremy, told the whole Crew, what Máechann had planned for them, and still Jeremy was her side? Had...had he been with her, the whole time? Had he...just been a spy for her? Someone to watch Ryan’s every move and report all his weaknesses straight to her.

”-and you called in those safe houses?”

That was Máechann’s voice. God, it hurt to listen to.

“Yeah, Palet- ... -ndsay Circus, Chumash, like you sa-” Jeremy responded.

He couldn’t quite hear every word. He was too far away. He wanted to get closer, to listen in and hear it all even if every word hurt like a stake to the heart, but he couldn’t. If he got to close, she would hear and smell him too. He had to keep his distance.

But he focused as hard as he could on their voices.

“Am I done now?” Jeremy asked. “I- ... -lying! I can’t keep doing this! Please, Meg! Just- ... -me!”

The woman’s laughter clanged like cathedral bells in Ryan’s ears.

“Why would I do that, my sweet l ittle thing?” she said. “You’re doing so well!”

“I love Ryan! I hate you! Please, just stop this! Stop making me do this! Just sto-”

She...was making him work for her.

She must have compelled him.  _ Forced _ him to be her spy.

_ “Silence!” _

There came a soft noise, as if Jeremy had literally choked on his own voice. Gods...her hold on him was strong.

Jeremy was conscious of everything, he knew what he was doing and hated every second of it, but her influence made him keep going. He was trapped in his own head, only able to watch on as his body acted without his permission and his mouth spoke her words.

“Things are coming to a head soon, I- ... Raéhn will come to me. If he doesn’t, I will come for him. We will fight. He will  _ die. _ And what will you do after that?”

Jeremy hesitated. He grunted; the sound was muffled, as though he was covering his mouth to keep the words from coming out.

“I’ll lead the Crew to you!” he shouted, words breaking out despite his efforts.

By the sound of it...he was crying.

“A-And you’ll kill them.”

The woman laughed again.

_ “Good boy.  _ You’re- ... -stay away from them, until I have dealt with Raéhn.”

Ryan set off back towards the city as fast as he could. He had to warn the others, tell them what was happening. He,  _ they _ all needed to do something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter, i knoww  
> but its some cool shit, right?


	14. Chapter 14

He burst through the unlocked door. He called for the Crew. As though sensing the urgency and panic in his voice, everyone seemed to drop what they were doing to come running.

By the time they had all gathered, Ryan had graduated from pacing the floor to pacing the walls. No one commented on it. He retold what he had heard at the motel, squeezing his hands into tight fists to keep from lashing out. It hurt more to repeat the words than it had to hear them, somehow. When he had only heard them being said, so far away and so muted, it had been almost as an illusion, something he could pretend wasn’t real. Saying them himself, though, was admitting that it happened, and that it was _real._

He was standing on the ceiling by the end of it, leaning against the wall.

The others appeared speechless. Ryan was too. He didn’t know what to think, or how to go about this. One wrong move, and Máechann killed Jeremy. To her, it would be like swatting a bug; to them, it would be a crippling blow, a burning loss.

The group watched in confusion as Geoff got up from the armchair he had situated himself in. He half-sprinted out of the living room. Ryan followed the sounds of the man through the penthouse, but did not make a move; he was curious to see what plans and schemes were cooking in Geoff’s head. He listened to the boss practically turn his own office upside down, cursing at himself for forgetting where he put _it._ Ryan was uncertain of what _it_  was, but he, and everyone else, was dying to know. Some moments of this shuffling passed, before there came a sound Ryan would not hesitate to call a squeak. It was a joyous noise, a victorious one. Geoff was running back to the living room as soon as he had his hands on this unidentified object.

As he entered, he had a folded up chessboard under one arm, the pieces rattling inside the board-turned-box. He took his seat again, dragging the chair closer to the coffee table. Ryan dropped from the ceiling and moved closer, as Geoff dumped all the chess pieces out on the table. He stayed across the table, length-wise, making sure to respect the boss’ wishes as best he could in the situation.

“The woman, what was her name?” Geoff asked, while unfolding the board and sorting through the pieces with quick hands. “Mekan? Mec-?”

“Meg. Megan.” Ryan answered. “A very distant derivative of her old name.”

“Okay. So, Meg is the Queen. White, because white moves first, and she’s been a step ahead of you for...well, a thousand years, I guess, so let’s go with that.” Geoff continued as he set up the piece on the board, along the side closes to himself. He placed a white pawn next to the queen. “Jeremy, is the White Pawn. He’s a dime a dozen muscle to her. Expendable, a game piece to be used, sacrificed, and discarded.”

Everyone leaned in, listening intently and watching the board. Geoff picked out a handful of black pieces before going any further.

“Vagabond, Ryan, you’re the Black King. You’re the cornerstone, the linchpin. If you go, we all go. Jack is the Black Queen. I’m the Bishop.” he explained as he lined up the pieces. “Gavin, you’re the Knight. Michael, the Rook. Black Pawns are the B Team. Not expendable, of course, but a trick up our sleeve. And...uh, this glass-“

He grabbed a half-empty glass of water that had been abandoned on the coffee table. Geoff drank the water quickly then turned the glass upside down and shoved the two white pieces together, placing the glass over them.

”-is Meg’s motel. Everyone following?”

Ryan nodded. The others answered the same.

“Good. So it’s a game of chess. We can’t think from move to move. We need to think ten moved ahead. So, here’s the plan, I guess. Rough draft, we’ll work on it.”

*

Andy, Matt, Trevor, Larry, Lindsay.

The Crew trusted the whole B Team, without hesitation, but these five were their closest, their most relied upon. These were the ones they knew would go the distance, _do anything,_ for their Crew. For their friends.

Lindsay and Andy sat before Geoff’s desk, with the boss himself behind it. Larry sat in the armchair by the globe, seemingly studying the ornate artwork that made up the continents. Matt and Trevor had squeezed in next to each other on the ottoman that went with Larry’s chair. Ryan leaned against the windows, masked. He didn’t want to give them that heart attack just yet. There were more important things to get to.

Ryan could hear every heart in the room pitter-patter with nervosity and uncertainty.

“So.” Geoff said, and exhaled a heavy breath.

The B Team-ers looked up, refocusing on their boss.

“Before we get to anything, I have to tell you.” Geoff continued. “This is a big deal. All our lives are at stake, and no one more than Jeremy, at the moment.”

 _“What?”_ Trevor asked, as they all began to excrete the pungent, hormonal scent of fear and anxiety.

Ryan reminded himself not to breathe until he had to speak.

“What’s goin’ on, Geoff?” Matt asked, brows furrowed. “Where’s Jeremy? What happened?”

The boss let out another deep sigh. He looked to Ryan, who nodded in understanding. Really, it should be him explaining things, no? It was _his_ mess to begin with, and he had dragged everyone down with him.

“Let’s start from the beginning.” Ryan said. “What do you know about vampires?”

*

“Ryan!”

He turned on his toes, already smiling since the moment Elyse’s scent had filled his nose. Michael had greeted her at the door and lead her to the dining room, where Ryan was preparing their weaponry for the upcoming battle. Elyse carried a big cooler, but seemed to struggle slightly to maintain a good hold on it due to its weight. Ryan hurried over to relieve her. She wrapped him in a tight hug the moment he had taken the cooler.

“I got your message, and I was just...I just got worried.” she said softly. “I came as soon as I could.”

Ryan pet her back and returned the embrace. He was surprised, to say the least, that she was so... _concerned_ about him.

“I’m sorry that I upset you, Elyse.” he said. “That was not my intention.”

The woman stepped back. She picked at her nails for a moment, and moved a few strands of her long hair behind her ear.

“So. Uh...I hope that’s enough.” she said, with a look at the red cooler.

Ryan placed it on the table and opened the lid. It was only half-full, but that was more than enough.

“These ones with the red tags are high red blood cell counts. The blues are high white, and the yellow is normal counts.” Elyse explained, pointing to the tags and bags. “I included a couple of vials of plasma too, just in case. Don’t know if you’ll need them, but...I thought it was better safe than sorry.”

The vampire nodded. “Thank you.” he said. “This is perfect.”

“Glad to hear it. Is Miles here?” she asked, with a small smile. “Kinda wanna apologize for the last time we saw each other.”

Ryan inhaled a deep breath. He shut the cooler again, and gestured Elyse to one of the chairs around the long table. Though she looked mildly puzzled by this, she did as requested and sat. Ryan sat down next to her, resting his hand on her shoulder. She and Miles hadn’t been close; they had probably never interacted outside the blood bank. But they had been permanent fixtures in each others lives for as long as he and Ryan had been in Los Santos. Elyse was a loving woman; Ryan couldn’t imagine that she would take Miles’ death lightly.

“Miles is...he died.” Ryan said. “I did what I could to save him, but...he did not make it.”

Elyse’s face was blank and expressionless. She just stared at him, seemingly dumbfound, and with that, he could sympathize. It wasn’t often that a human outlived their vampiric acquaintances.

 _“Died?”_ she repeated. “H-How? What happened?”

“It’s...a long story. And if you want, I can tell it to you, but sadly, not at the moment.” Ryan said, as sincere and compassionate as he could. “Right now, I have to focus on the woman who did it. She has Jeremy. I must prioritize the living over the dead, as much as I would prefer to stop and grieve.”

Elyse inhaled a shallow, shaky breath. She blinked away the teary glaze that had come over her eyes. She cleared her throat wetly, wiping her hands over her jeans just to have something to do with them.

“Okay.” she said. “Okay. Okay. I just...I’m-“

The vampire nodded, squeezing her shoulder gently. “I know. Me too.” he said.

“I-Is there a-anything I can do?” she asked. “About J-Jeremy. I mean, I don’t know him or anythin’, but if whoever killed Miles has him, it can’t be good, right?”

Ryan had smile at her. She was extraordinary, was she not? Even in her grief, she wanted to help in any way she could, to save a man she did not know.

“We have it under control.” he said. “I don’t want to put you in more danger, Elyse. Go home. Try to...grieve, I suppose. I will call you as soon as we have things sorted out.”

“Okay.” Elyse said again. “I’ll...leave you to it.”

Ryan squeezed her shoulder again.

“Stay safe.” he told her.

She rose, and he followed. They embraced again. Ryan held her just as tight as she held him, for as long as she needed it. He walked her to the door, and saw her off there.

Michael stood by the table when Ryan returned, peering into the cooler with curious eyes.

"So she's the one gets you the blood?" the human asked.

"Yes." Ryan answered. "She works at the blood bank. She takes what can be spared, fixes the records, and delivers to…to me."

He almost said _to Miles and I._

"I pay generously for her service." he added.

Michael reached into the cooler, slithering his hand through layers of blood bags and pulled out a small vial of a viscous yellow liquid.

"What's this?"

Ryan's hand had wrapped around the humans wrist before either of them quite knew it. Michael hissed in pain. His heart raced when his eyes flit to land on Ryan. Oh, his eyes…Ryan's eyes had gone black. He could feel it. He wrenched the vial from Michael's fingers before letting him go. When he was released, Michael stepped back quickly, seemingly eager to put some distance between them.

"I…I apologize." Ryan said.

He closed his eyes, breathing deep. He didn't open them again until he had felt the darkness slink back to its corner.

"It's plasma." he said, showing the vial. "It's…well, I suppose I could say that in its pure form, separated from the blood, it's like…a thousand energy drinks  _and_  a thousand lines of cocaine, all at once."

"Whoa…" the lad let out. "Fuck, dude. Then we're fuckin' cool, man. If I was you, I wouldn't want some stupid idiot to ruin my buzz, either."

Michael snorted and laughed; Ryan couldn't help by answer it with a smile of his own.

He moved the blood bags carefully, and set the vial in one of the empty slots in the deck Elyse had included. Six vials of plasma, pure as could be. His mouth was watering. The monster was on its knees, begging him to just _drink them all._

 _Not yet,_  Ryan promised. The monster was displeased, but decided to believe him. He had never lied to it before, had he? Why start now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited and posted from my phone, so excuse any mistakes!  
> This chapters also kinda short, but I kinda really just wanted to get all the lead up out of the way. Now, theres just the big title fight left, and some wrap-up of the story. Maybe am epilouge? Idk yet.  
> Get excited, yall!! <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok ill be the first to say that the perspectives get a little wonky in thi chapter! it felt ok when i wrote it and now it just kinda looks confusing?? might have to read it a little extra carefully, so you dont miss anything?? let me know if its too weird. if too many ppl find it weird or confusing, ill go back and change it around, make it easier to read  
> <3

Their chosen B Team-ers were situated in the motel. They had trickled into the place over the last two hours, playing it casual and checking in to any room that was offered to them by the clerk. Even from so far away, Ryan could hear them; the hearts of the B Team running away with fear. Máechann was talking at Jeremy, going on about one thing or another, Ryan wasn’t listening too closely, and it was a miracle she hadn’t picked up on them yet.

“Good to go?” Geoff asked, sitting in an armored Kuruma with Jack some hundred feet away from where Ryan stood.

Ryan raised his left arm, waving at the boss.

“Copy that.” Geoff responded. “Set it off, Gav!”

Michael and the Brit sat on their dirt bikes, engines puttering in wait. Gavin tapped at his phone for some moments. Ten seconds later, five phones pinged in the motel.

Five TVs turned on and the volume raised to max. Five stereos started pounding out whatever frequency they were set to, music mixing into a garbled mess. The doors opened; Ryan could see them as clear as if he was standing right beside them. Andy threw out three bottles of Febreze, one after the other, triggers held down with zip ties so they kept spraying. Matt threw out a few bottles of WD-40, tied in the same way. Trevor tossed two bottles of vinegar into the parking lot, the air filling with the stinging scent as the glass bottles shattered on impact. Larry and Lindsay leaned out of their rooms, wearing gas masks, and started spraying something they had lovingly called  _ Liquid Ass _ and  _ Liquid Barf, _ respectively. Ryan didn’t need to guess what that smelled like; he had been gagging as soon as they brought it within forty feet of him. Gods only know what it was like for Meg to stand in the middle of that fog. It would be scrambling her brains something fierce. Hopefully, it put her off her game enough for Ryan to get the upper hand.

Ryan held up his fist, and could see Geoff focus in on him with the binoculars. Ryan opened his fist, closed it, opened it, and closed it again.

_ Move in. _

The Kuruma revved and took off at the motel. The dirt bikes screamed, dust and sand filling the air, and followed. To Ryan’s eyes, though, they were barely moving at all.

He took a deep breath.  _ Now or never... _

He had drank every blood bag Elyse had brought him; he was already thrumming with power and energy, electricity jumping around inside him and jolting from cell to cell until his whole body was so stunningly  _ alive. _ But he needed more. If he was going to beat Máechann, he needed more. He popped the caps off the plasma vials. The yellow sludge poured into his mouth. The monster screamed in his head.

 

**_ YESYESYESYESYESMOREYESYESFEEDMEYESMOREYESYESYES _ **

 

He was at Máechann’s door before the humans had even made it a quarter of the way. He mowed through it like it was nothing. The flimsy wood shattered back into the room as if he was the shock wave of an explosion.

The plasma rushing through him turned the world on a dime. It was like time had stopped.

Jeremy stood by the king-size bed. A look of fear and confusion was frozen on his face. He had one hand on the corresponding ear, trying to keep the noise out, and a hand towel over his mouth and nose, hoping to do the same for the smell.

Máechann was on her knees, collapsed on the floor. She covered her ears too, but she was bleeding, claws tearing at her head as though she could rip the noise away from her eardrums. She had clawed at her face too, the nauseating mix of scents overwhelming her.

Ryan saw where each and every splinter, fired like bullets, of the door landed.

The woman took the brunt of the damage. She managed to move in time, though, to cover most of her chest, and thereby her heart.  _ As if _ she would make it that easy for him. It pained Ryan to see Jeremy stagger back; his arm and side were dotted with splinters, blood seeping from the wounds, face twisting with agony. It didn’t look too serious, which was a relief for Ryan. It wouldn’t kill the human, but it would definitely slow him down. At least it would be easier for the Crew to bag him.

Máechann shrieked, screaming a command at her foot-soldier. Ryan’s mind was getting too... _in_ _human, _ to make sense of the words. The monster was begging for control, for its chance to take revenge.

Ryan surrendered to it, finally.

He grabbed her, got her throat and a handful of midnight blue hair. Her face was split into the toothy grin of  _ her _ monster, eye burning black. He moved to the balcony walkway outside the second floor room.

He threw her. The windows rattled with her howling. He jumped, following his dear wife.

She hit the desert floor hard, cratering the ground with her body. He slammed down only feet away, his heavy downing pitting the earth as well. She was on her feet and at his throat in a split-second. Her jaws snapped at him like those of a rabid dog. He snapped back just as hard, roaring out at her and striking after her body.

*

_ Kill, kill, kill, kill them all! Do it! Do it now! _

Her voice was in his head. He hated it. He wanted to rip it out, claw it from each braincell it had infected and burn it away. He could feel her whispering in his ear. Telling him to act, to move, to maim and kill his friends. He felt sick.

He held his side. He hissed as he pulled thick splinters of red-painted wood from his body. He just had to focus on the pain! If he was busy hurting himself, he wouldn’t have time to hurt anyone else. He could resist it. He could do it. He could resist her voice and her words and the sugar sweet urge to  _ obey. _

Jeremy’s eyes watered when his body moved without his permission, forgetting the splinters still left in him; he put his jacket back on, almost screaming as the action jostled the shrapnel in his arm, and the sunglasses too. Made sure his hat sat straight on his head. Grabbed his M4, slung the strap over his shoulder, checked the mag, turned the safety off. All clear.

With every move, Jeremy was fighting himself. He was trying as hard as he could to just make himself  _ stop. _ He didn’t care if he would be standing in the door with an M4 in his hands, screaming in pain and slowly bleeding out, but anything was better than what Meg was making him do.

He moved outside. He vaulted over the banister, foregoing the stairs, and landed easily on the car that had been parked just under the overhang. He slid off the back of the car, running to his motorcycle. It roared to life under him.

In the distance, he saw Jack’s Kuruma, and the remaining lads flanking it on their dirt bikes. They were heading straight for him.

Oh, God...this was happening. They were coming to kill him for turning on them. They thought he was on Meg’s side, that he was a traitor. They would kill him. He hoped they did it quick. Hoped they didn’t give him the chance to hurt them. He just didn’t want to hurt them. Fuck, he loved them. Loved ‘em all. He’d rather fucking _die_ than hurt them!

It felt like he was standing in a fish tank inside his own head; he was beating on the glass and screaming out for anyone who would hear him. But no one could hear him. No one could hear how he begged his body to  _ stop, stop this, don’t do it, don’t hurt them, please, don’t hurt them! _

Further out, he saw a sandstorm. Not a natural sandstorm, but one created by the two dark figures that were moving at its center. He couldn’t tell which blur was who, but he hoped Ryan was winning the fight. The sand seemed to whip at them just as hard as they struck at each other. Under the noise of TVs and stereos, he could hear the vampires roar like lions.

No, fiercer than that. It sounded more like the stuff of nightmares, than any animal Jeremy had ever heard of.

He revved the engine again, and hit the gas.

_ Please, stop it, don’t, don’t hurt them. _

*

Dodge left.

Dodge right.

Right swing, at the body.

Ribs crunched under his fist.

Give ground, give ground, block the kick, take the jab, return rapid-fire at the body.

Jaws closed over his shoulder, teeth ripping into his flesh.

He roared. He grabbed at her. Caught her neck, jacket, hair, ripped her away from himself. Flesh followed with, her teeth tearing at the tissue.

Her claws were like knives, cutting, slicing, stabbing his arm and anything she could reach.

*

They were going head to head. The distance between them was closing fast.

He let go of the handlebars, raised the gun instead. Recoil slammed into the shoulder, he screamed at himself. His injured arm burned with pain.

Michael and Gavin went wide to avoid the gunfire, blasting past him. The Kuruma didn’t waver. The bullets bounced off the hood, sent spiderwebs of cracks through the windshield, but it did not waver; it barreled at him, Jack no doubt maxing out the speedometer.

He got a grip on the handlebars again. Jeremy wanted to stop. He wanted to stop or turn or do  _ anything _ to keep from slamming into the armored vehicle. His body fought him for it. He kicked and punched and screamed at the walls of his fish tank, but Meg screamed right back. Her voice was shrill in his head, stabbing into his thoughts like a thousand needles.

But somehow,  _ somehow, somehow, somehow, _ he got his arms to listen, just for a second. It was enough to make the bike skid out of the Kuruma’s path.  _ But it was also too much. _

The bike lost grip,  _ it wasn’t meant for off-roading. _ It swerved and fell on its side, sliding across the coarse sand. Lucky for him, there was enough sense left in his body for it to see reason and let go of the bike. Instead of going under it, being mauled to bits by its weight and the rough ground, he was only flung aside.

It was hard to tell what was happening. For a moment, he was floating through the air and his hat drifted away in the wind. Then he hit the ground;  _ rolling, ow, rolling, rolling, plastic shattering, fabric tearing, sand in his eyes, sand in his mouth, sand wearing down his skin, hurt, pain, rolling, more pain, rolling, rolling, ow, ow, ow, sand, blue sky overhead. _

Engines puttered close by, tires screeching to a halt.

“He’s down!”

Michael?

“Bring the car ‘round!”

Gavin too?

Jeremy blinked slowly. Blue sky, red stuff flooding into his vision. He was bleeding? No surprise there. He  _ did _ just wreck his bike, after all. He hoped it was a head injury. Hoped he passed out for a bit. Couldn’t hurt his friends if he was knocked out, right? Better that way. He didn’t want to hurt them.

*

Michael skid his bike to a halt some feet away from where Jeremy lay. He could see the man’s chest rise and fall with breath, eyes blinking away the blood seeping into them from the gash across his forehead.  _ Thank God! _ He was alive, at least. It was a start.

He leaped from his bike, running for his friend. As he moved, he got the handcuffs out of his jacket pocket.

The Kuruma screeched, skidding around. No one left the car, though. They waited, watched. Had to be able to get out of there quick, as soon as they had their lad in custody.

“Jeremy!” he said, as he fell to his knees beside the injured man. “Jeremy, can you hear me?”

There was no response, other than the fist that hit his face like a brick. Michael fell back, and Jeremy was on him in no time at all with more bricks to pummel the lad with.

Had he been any less accustomed to getting punched in the face, Michael probably would have passed out after the first punch. He was accustomed to it, though, and quite thoroughly so; the first instinct was to fight back. There wasn’t much time for it, before Gavin was there too. The lanky Brit ran at them both. He threw himself at Jeremy, tackling him into the sand and dragging him off the third lad. Michael watched for a moment, dazed, as his friends tumbled over the sand, both fighting to get out of whatever hold the other had on them. He could feel his face already begin to swell into what would probably be a nasty black eye, and his nose leaking blood onto his lips.

Michael didn’t snap out of his confusion until he heard Gavin whimper, and the thud of a heavy fist against sharp cheekbones. He staggered to his feet. He dug through the sand, finding the handcuffs he had dropped in his fall. He drew his gun. It hurt to point it at Jeremy.

*

He wanted to fucking die, as he watched himself try his hardest to bash Michael’s face in. Hated the feeling of Michael’s blood on his knuckles, the wounded look in his eyes.

He was  _ so relieved, _ when out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gavin barreling at them. With more force than Jeremy could ever have expected from the skinny man, Gavin slammed into his side and tackled him to the ground. His whole being ached from the lingering shrapnel digging further into his body. It was better than beating the shit out of Michael, at least.

He spoke, or thought, too soon.

They tumbled and rolled across the sand. Gavin was screaming in anger, arms locked in a tight hold around Jeremy. Even as they rolled, Jeremy’s body was fighting the Brit for it. His fingers clawed at any part of Gavin they could reach; he could feel the tanned skin ripping under his nails, fabric tearing to pieces, and hair ripped from the roots. He broke from Gavin’s hold as the tumbling stopped. He planted his knee on the Brit’s chest, putting his whole weight on his ribcage, and the other on his shoulder, to keep at least one arm immobilized.

Gavin made such a heartbreaking, gut-wrenching noise when Jeremy hit him. His teeth went red with blood from where his lip split.

Something small, something sharp, hit the side of his head; it ricocheted off what remained of the bows of his sunglasses.

Jeremy was thrown back.

He looked around, and could cry with joy and relief and love and oh, God, he couldn’t breathe, he was so grateful.

A tranq dart, needle bent out of shape, lay in the sand beside him. They were shooting tranqs at him. Just tranqs, not bullets.  _ Thank you, God, and anyone who’s listening, _ he cried in his mind, even as his body snarled at the lads.

Again, he spoke too soon.

Sand whipped at all three of them. They covered their eyes and mouth and noses as fast as they could, to shield themselves.  _ What was that? _

A strange, bony hand, with fingers too long to be human, wrapped around Jeremy’s throat. His hands grabbed at it, fighting to breathe, as it lifted him from the ground. If he could have, he would have screamed, when he saw who, or what, had grabbed him.

_ Meg. _

Her face was twisted to hell and back; she was more monster than human. What little of her face that wasn’t taken up by enormous tar-black eyes and a Cheshire grin of butcher’s blades, was covered with claw marks, strips of pale skin barely hanging on, and ruby red blood.

She dragged him to her, his back to her chest, and didn’t release his throat for even a second. Ryan appeared some feet before them. The sand lashed around him as he froze. He looked like Meg did; his face was mangled, one of his eyes had almost been torn out, his clothes were ripped to shreds, blood pouring from long scratches and wide bites. Something black oozed slowly from the damaged eye.

*

_ Why wouldn’t she-beast die?! _

The stake burned his hand. She sizzled when he buried it in her thigh. Shrill screaming, claws ripping across his chest.

She kicked him, sent him back some twenty feet. Managed to get the stake out of her leg. Threw it at him.

He caught it. Threw it back at her when she ran at him. She batted it out of the air.

Tackled him to the ground. Teeth in his side, claws on his legs and back. Grabbed her leg. Tore her away. Slammed her into the sand.

_ Rip her head off! _

_ Tear her heart out! _

_ Stake her! _

_ Get the ring, let the sun eat her! _

Lunged at her. Held her down, bit into her neck. Blood like sugar, like wildflowers, like fire, like ocean water, like life itself. Ripped and tore, more and more and more! Sever her head! Bite clean through her! Let her die like the weak always do!

Claws on his face. Caught an eye. Sliced like knives and fire. Monster wailed in pain. Blood poured. Pure darkness dripped from the eyes. Darker than night, darker than black holes, darker than the void of nothingness.

She-beast made a noise. Sounded like laughter, couldn’t be sure. Echoed in his head. She was on her feet, blood spurted from the neck. She made the noise again. Took off running.

He saw to where.

He followed.

She already had her soldier human when he got there. He couldn’t breathe, by the looks of it. Face going red, feet kicking at she-beast, hands fighting hers, eyes big and panicked.

She lifted her other arm. It was steeped in blood from both monsters. Wanted to stop her. Wanted to stake her and burn her and kill her and destroy her. She pressed the forearm to the human’s open mouth. He lapped at it unwillingly, couldn’t stop himself, fighting to breathe and it was in his mouth and he had no control.

Monster roared at she-beast.

_ Soldier human is my human. Soldier human is my claim, my mate, mine!  ** Mine, mine, mine, mine! ** _

“I kill him, you suffer!” she-beast screeched in his head. “He turns, you suffer! You kill him, you suffer!  _ I win!” _

She let go of soldier human. He fell to the ground, blood on his face and lips and tongue.

She wouldn’t get away with this.

Monster ran for her. She made the noise, the laughing noise. Didn’t stop when his fist was in her chest. Found her heart. Closed his hand around it. Twisted, ripped. Placed that dark heart at the feet of the sun, an offering to an old god.

She stopped making the noise.


	16. Chapter 16

Monster didn’t stop.

Dropped the heart in the sand. Didn’t care that he stepped on it when getting closer to her. Reached into her chest again. Broke her open. Shattered every rib, tore the organs out, threw them away. Arm came loose. Ripped it in two, tossed it aside. Bit into her, tore flesh out, spat it out, didn’t deserve to be eaten, not worthy of being food. Clawed the eyes out, not worthy of sight. Tore the tongue out, not worthy of words.

Grabbed the head, ripped it from the body. Dropped her in the sand. Monster was finished with her.

Smelled fear and anxiety, blood and gasoline, exhausts and drugs.

Big nose human was next to soldier human, hands all over him. Freckle human was there too. Why were they touching him?

_ Monster would rip them apart! _

No! No, no, no, no. No, big nose and freckle were... _ friends? _ Coven, tribe, pack, family,  _ coven. _ True insisted on it, in monster’s head. They were not for hurting. They were for...protecting. They were his humans.

Moved back as monster shuffled over. Eyed them carefully. Monster didn’t quite believe true. Monster wasn’t good at  _ trusting; _ true always did that stuff.

He pushed soldier human, rolled him on his back. Smelled different. Smelled like she-beast. Wouldn’t be human for long. Turning was happening. Monster knew true wouldn’t like that. Knew how true felt about this one. Bad idea, even monster knew that. True might do most of the thinking, but monster knew it wasn’t always good thinking. True had bad thoughts all the time, bad and mean and cruel thoughts that he liked to blame monster for, but monster knew they were all true’s own. Monster gave him bad thoughts sometimes, but not always. Not as often as he was blamed for.

_ Let me out. _

Not fair, true. Monster never gets the body.

_ Because monster has no control. _

Monster has control! Monster knows! Monster protects true, always!

_ Please, monster...let me out. Give me the body. Please. We can talk about this later. _

Promise? True promises? It’s monsters body too! Monster only wants what’s already his.

_ I know. We can negotiate control soon. Please, just let me help them. Your part is done. They need me now, need true. We can talk about it after this is done. _

Okay...

*

Ryan came back to himself.

Everything was a blur. What happened? Things were...unclear. He drank the plasma, fought Máechann. He let the monster out.

He looked around quickly.

Jeremy was in his arms, Michael and Gavin stood around him. The Kuruma hummed where it was parked; he could see Jack and Geoff inside, worried looks on their faces.

Ryan groaned. His body sagged over Jeremy, the pain overcoming him momentarily. Máechann did quite a number on him.

“Ryan!”

A hand grabbed his shoulder. Gavin was next to him, helping him to sit up again. Two car doors opened and closed.

“Ryan, talk to me.” Gavin said, and steadied the vampire’s head.

The touch was anchoring. Made it easier to look at that worried face in the eyes.

“Everyone okay?” Ryan murmured.

Gavin nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re good.” he said. “Took some hits, but we’ll live. You?”

Ryan withdrew from the quite gentle hold Gavin had on him, and nodded in return.

“I’ll be fine.” he said.

He looked up when he heard fabric ripping. The silky sleeve of Gavin’s button-up was offered to him, along with a determined look from the Brit himself. The cold sweat of nausea glistened on his forehead, but it seemed Gavin had his gag reflex under control. For now, at least.

“You should cover that eye.” he said.

Ryan, reluctantly, let Jeremy rest on the ground instead of his lap. He took the strip of fabric and tied it around his head, making sure it covered the injured eye. It wasn’t exactly necessary; it would heal when he got some blood in him, but he appreciated the gesture. And he was a little glad he wouldn’t be dripping more black eye-goo on himself.

There was silence.

The humans all reeked of adrenaline, the heavy scent laying like a fog over them. He could see Michael and Gavin were both shaking; the adrenaline was wearing off, and leaving them an exhausted mess. Geoff’s lips were twitching, eyes blinking rapidly. Jack’s jaw was set, lips in a tight line, hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. Ryan would have loved to give them more time to recover and collect themselves. Hell, he needed to do some of that too. But they weren’t out of the woods yet.

Ryan wiped his face on the sleeved of his jacket, in the hope that he could clear away at least some of the blood. Though, by the state of, well,  _ all of him, _ that was a losing battle.

“She fed him her blood. He will go through the turning.” he said, as he, with some help, staggered to his feet. “But, we may be able to save him yet.”

Thankfully, Michael gladly accepted the role as crutch for the time being. That bite on the hip felt like it had nearly torn his thigh musculature clean out.

“Jack, Geoff, go to the garden center. Buy something called verbena. It might be listed as vervain, too. Get as many as you can.” the vampire ordered, despite the agonizing pain he was in. “Break in if you have to. Got it?”

The Gents had woken from their minor state of shock when Ryan spoke their names. They were probably happy to be away from...all this; the mess Ryan had made.

“Got it.” Jack said and grabbed Geoff’s arm to pull him along. “Let’s go.”

They ran back to the car. Geoff had barely closed his door before Jack stepped on the gas and turned the car around, speeding away in the general direction of the city.

“Gav, Michael, go to the blood bank.” Ryan continued.

His insides stirred, he groaned again. Luckily, he was fast enough to cover the hole in his side with a hand, to keep his insides from becoming his outsides.

“Máechann did a lot of damage. I need blood. I don’t know how long I am going to last if I don’t feed.”

“Copy that!” Gavin said, already heading for his bike.

“Michael!” Ryan called, stopping the freckled lad in his tracks.

“Yeah?” he asked quickly.

“Do you have a lighter?” Ryan asked, nodding to what remained of their adversary. “Matches?”

Michael snorted at him.  _ “Dude. _ Have you met me?” he said.

The boy dug his hands into his jeans pockets. From the first, he withdrew three brightly colored Bics, and four more from the second, piling them in Ryan’s waiting hands. A box of matches from one jacket pocket, and a zippo from the other.

“Thank you.” Ryan said, smiling at the slightly ridiculous amount of them.

Michael was gone already when he looked up, swinging a leg over his bike.

“C’mon!” Gavin called, kick-starting his own bike. “Let’s go get that blood!”

Ryan watched them ride away, they too heading towards the city. He was proud and thankful, for their resilience. Despite the shock and confusion of all they had gone through in the last few days, his crew-mates kept their heads high. They battled on, even though Ryan didn’t doubt that they would all rather call it quits by then.

To be honest, he wanted to quit too. He lost Miles, he had to kill Máechann, and now Jeremy was going through the turning. It was all because of Ryan. He wanted to quit and go away and close his eyes and sleep until he forgot it all.

But he couldn’t. Couldn’t sleep now. Jeremy needed him. When he woke up, Jeremy would be thirsting for blood. If Ryan wasn’t there to hold him back, Gods only know how it would turn out. He remembered the small massacre Miles had made when he turned, and that guilt almost killed the young vampire. Ryan didn’t want Jeremy to go through that too. He wouldn’t let history repeat itself.

He staggered around the desert for some minutes, gathering the pieces of his wife. He piled them all together, and struck a match. The corpse went up in white flames the moment the match landed.

He grabbed one of Jeremy’s wrists and his legs. With a pained groan, he lifted the unconscious man and slung him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He started walking. His body was healing slowly, all energy exhausted in the fight. But he’d be able to run soon. It wouldn’t be all too long before he was healed enough to at least make it to the penthouse.

Gods help him, he hoped they all made it through this; body, soul, and sanity intact. Or, at least, as close to intact their kind could hope for.

He hoped he could talk sense into Jeremy, and keep him from completing the turn.

He hoped the others didn’t blame him for bringing trouble to their shores.

He hoped he handled this mess fast enough to avoid any hunters growing suspicious of this new sort of ruckus caused in Los Santos.

He hoped this would have a happy ending.

Then again, they were still the bad guys, and the bad guys never got the happy ending they hoped for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, i know, this id kinda a shitty way to end things, but as things develop in the plot from here, it feels better suited to be its own seperate work. if i started piling it on here, it would just feel too drawn out, stretched thin, yknow?  
> So theres a series now, and the next work will be all about the consequences from what happened in this work!
> 
> Will Jeremy become a vampire? Will he and Ryan finally make kissy faces at each other? How does the rest of the Crew handle things, now that the crisis has passed? Did the rest of the supernatural world take note of what happened in Los Santos? Does anyone want any more of Mama Dooley's secret-recipe-pancakes?
> 
> Stick around, to find out!


End file.
